


Captivity

by turtlesketches



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Aliens, Captivity, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Roleplay, Romance, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Survival, Turtlecest, tcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7298269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlesketches/pseuds/turtlesketches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a fight against insectoid aliens goes south, Donatello and Raphael are captured and taken off-world. But they’re not being transported to just <i>any</i> prison…<br/>A sci-fi/adventure/romance roleplay between Winnyverse (as Raphael) and myself (as Donatello)!  Eventual t-cest, and rated M for mature audiences.</p>
<p>This RP is being written in google docs and upload in chapters here, so to stay completely up-to-date you can check out this link! https://goo.gl/P9k6uo</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A bug problem

That thing -- that _horrible alien_ _bug --_ had Donnie!

 

Raphael had not been giving it his all for this fight, much to his shame. He had been repulsed by their mandible mouths and clicking voices. Too often he had hesitated, loathe to close the distance as his fighting style required. But Donatello had not been afraid. He had been doing well meleeing the monstrosities at medium range. They were more susceptible to blunt force trauma, and Raph had been meant to join in that fray while Mike and Leo got the injured humans to safety. But it looks like they’ve done that, and all he’s managed so far is to land a flying kick on one... just  _ one _ measly alien! And it was a damn good kick, but it turns out those glossy beetle backs are near impervious! He’d been thinking to knock it forward onto it's face and find a way to attack something more vital from there -- but all he managed to do was to get it to stumble half a step in surprise. 

 

Then suddenly he was in close range, and all three were turning towards him.  The sai came out instinctively, with a pair of snicks as the steel kissed leather. And then those arms were stretching towards him, and spindly dexterous mandibles were chittering and dancing, slithering and clicking at him. 

 

In his frozen panic, suddenly alien blasters were being leveled in his direction, held in digits that were more antennas than fingers. Too slow. There had been no choice at that point but to vault away, back out of range. 

 

His rage and frustration continued to grow, though turned poisonously inward. He could not tap it for strength, he could not even get close enough to properly flank and fillet these body snatching bugs. He was a fuck-up, a coward.

 

And then the fourth one had Donnie. 

 

Raphael hadn't realized there WAS a fourth one -- hadn't known his brother had been flanked on the opposite side. And suddenly that bug’s whole body seemed to open like a hideous and deadly flower, wings flaring open, and two long deadly spines snapping out from beneath the wings, hanging poised in the air above and around him before snapping at their target _ ,  _ plunging stingers towards exposed green flesh: one aims for the shoulder, the other for the thigh. 

They are coming in so fast. The bo staff can deflect one of these missiles, but there is not enough time to knock away both. 

 

_ “Donnie!”  _ Raph calls in anguish. This sight is enough to spur him to action, though it still feels more like berserker panic than berserker rage. 

 

“Raph! Don’t let them bait you!” Distantly, he can hear Leo shouting -- and distantly, some part of his brain recognizes that as a pretty good idea. But by that point his feet were already committed to the charge. Besides, that  _ thing _ was lifting Donnie up with its disgusting arms. His brother could hardly struggle, could hardly keep his eyes open. He ducks and slashes and tumbles his way past the three, and gets to Don just in time to watch the second stinger-talon slash down. It sunk deep into muscle and the feebly resisting turtle slumped and went still as death. 

 

A war scream broke loose from Raphael’s throat. He doesn't really remember tearing that first bug to pieces. But for a moment, he’d felt sure that he could, and suddenly he was covered in viscous fluids and pulling its face apart. He remembers dragging his brother half free of the mangled insect parts.

 

Then three more were bearing down on him. Somehow he managed to hook both stingers with either sai, and ripped the talons off at the ends with a savage crack. 

 

He does not recall the pain of being repeatedly stung by the other two. The last thing Raphael can recall is the wind and the whirring of insectoid wings, then an intense blaze of fiery warmth coursing through him, then darkness.


	2. Darkness, imprisoning me

Can’t -  _ breathe _ ! 

 

Donatello woke up gasping, his lungs burning, his chest heaving as he worked to take in more oxygen. He clawed at his throat blindly- sparing only a moment to be terrified that he couldn’t see, even though his eyes were open wide. There was some kind of apparatus around his neck and face, and he scratched at it, searching desperately for a way to remove it, trying not to panic as he registered the distinct and poisonous smell of sulphur dioxide suffusing the air he was breathing. 

 

He tore off the lower half of the object attached to his face, and when it suddenly become doubly hard to breathe, he realised in horror that he’d mistaken its purpose. Donnie scrambled to re-attach the piece he’d removed, pressing the oxygen mask tighter around his nose and mouth. It clicked into place, and with the pressure of his hands making a seal against his skin, a slow and steady supply of oxygen finally flowed into his ragged lungs.

 

Donnie spent a few moments just wheezing through his breaths and berating himself internally.  _ Some genius I am _ , he thought, trying to swallow and relax his over-tensed throat.  _ Can’t even recognise an alien breather when it’s the only thing keeping me alive. _

 

He took stock of his body, trying to compile a list of damages he could quickly relay to Leo. Mostly there was pain, lots of pain. That wasn’t very helpful to anyone, but it was definitely accurate, he reflected. His leg and shoulder were on fire. Well, he assumed they were, because he couldn’t lift his head to check and it definitely felt like that time he’d tried to put out flames with his hands. His chest still felt compressed, like there was a Triceraton sitting on him. He giggled slightly hysterically at the mental image, and blamed it on the stress and the oxygen. 

 

He blinked up at the ceiling, and was relieved when he could make out small differences in the darkness. His ears worked too; there were faint clanging noises in the distance, and a low constant thrumming that seemed to vibrate through the very floor.  _ I’m on a ship? Am I alone? _ His training finally kicked in, and Donnie rolled over onto his stomach with a groan, lifting himself with extreme difficulty off the hard metal flooring. His body seemed twice as heavy as it normally did, and he was tempted to simply let the oppressively high gravity press him into the floor again. 

 

“That’s a pretty good way to keep people still,” He mumbled to no-one in particular, his voice raspy. _ Is it intentional? I wonder if they can control gravitational force in isolated areas? I suppose it’s more probable that this artificial gravity is the same all over the ship, and matches the gravity of their home planet. Which might make an escape pretty difficult, _ he thought, biting back a whimper as his limbs protested the strain of staying on his hands and knees. 

 

He crawled forward slowly, one hand holding the dilapidated one-size-fits-all oxygen mask tight against his face, trying to ignore the searing pain in his leg and shoulder.  _ Maybe they injected me with some kind of paralyser with those stingers? _ Don wondered. He almost jumped when he bumped into a soft limb lying across his path. “Hello?” He whispered, but whoever it was didn’t reply. Terrified, he patted at the cool skin until he reached a hand.  _ Five fingers. _ Not one of his brothers, then. But potentially one of the humans they’d been trying to save, when-- Donnie’s eyes widened as the whole fight suddenly came rushing back to him at once.

 

They’d been keeping track of Bishop’s movements ever since the mutant outbreak in New York, when he’d revealed himself to be part of the ‘Earth Protection Force’. His brothers had all been disturbed by the level of extraterrestrial activity on Earth that they’d been oblivious to, especially when they couldn’t guarantee that Bishop wasn’t just shooting first and asking questions later with any aliens that were potential allies. Don had managed to intercept some of Bishop’s mission briefs, which consisted of some GPS coordinates and a time. They’d decided to investigate one location not far from Northampton, but there hadn’t been any EPF agents in sight. But there were aliens. Roach-like aliens, some as big as small cars, busily kidnapping a farming family.  _ Bishop must have known we were spying on his communiqués _ , Don realised, as he tightened the young woman’s breathing mask.  _ He sent us to do his dirty work.  _

 

Feeling ill, Don continued forward, feeling around with his hands to look blindly for other people.  _ Are we in a holding cell? A cargo bay? A- _

 

**_Clang_ ** _. _

 

He recoiled from the very solid object he’d just hit his already throbbing head on. Cursing quietly, he reached out and found that it was a metal bar. There were others, evenly spaced close together- this must be the barrier keeping them enclosed. He dropped his hand and almost jumped out of his skin again when it fell against someone else on the other side- someone with a shell. 

_ “Leo?! Raph? Mikey? _ ”

 

Don reached through the bars as far as possible, dragging his brother by the belt towards him. His nimble fingers found little leather straps where sai usually fit. “ _ Raph? _ Raph, can you hear me?” Don felt for his face, patting it insistently. “Raph, come on, time to wake up-” His hands stilled as sudden dread filled him.

 

Raph didn’t have a mask.  

 

Donnie sat in near-panic, one hand on the skin of Raph’s belly between plastron and carapace, feeling his faint heartbeat.  _ Only one thing to do.  _

 

He pushed himself up against the bars, forcing his body into a meditative pose, even as the gravity threatened to bend him in half. He remembered Splinter’s training, he remembered the time they’d all done this together in the almost-vacuum of a different cargo hold. He remembered Raph fighting behind him, fighting for him when he’d fallen prey to the alien’s stingers. 

 

_ You always have my back, _ Don thought, as his breathing slowed to a near stop. He unhooked the mask with languid fingers, and took one last deep breath of breathable air.  _ Let me help you for once.  _ He pressed the mask against Raph’s face, and closed his eyes, holding his breath as he waited.

 

_ - _

 

Raphael was drowning. His arms flailed sluggishly without finding purchase or any indicator of direction, just the resistance of cold water all around him. There was no light at all, no visual guide to help him reach the surface. In desperation, he picked a direction at random and tried to swim. It was impossible. 

 

His chest was beginning to burn. Any minute now, he expected his will would give out and his lungs would flood.  _ Hold on, hold on, you're almost there,  _ he told himself, and kept telling himself, even though there was no way to be sure. 

 

He never would be sure how he managed not to draw that deadly breath of sea water. Instead, Raphael’s awareness of the pain shrank with every futile stroke, willing his stubbornness to burn like some eternal fire inside. He swam on and on, to a place beyond all thought and understanding.

 

\---

 

Raph woke up an indeterminable time later clawing and thrashing, almost like his body remembered that he’d gone down fighting even if his mind was not ready to comprehend it. But his limbs were heavy, far too heavy! It was far more struggle than it should have been.  

 

The next thing to hit his awareness is the smell, that noxious sulfurous odor which slides icy fingers of panic under his shell and down his spine. Has there been some transgression too unforgivable, the proper rites not observed, sufficient faith never obtained and now… has he gone to Hell after all? 

 

It’s actually not a huge surprise, but a wrenching shudder goes through him just the same.

 

Is this it, then? No joyful rest, no oblivion, just endless pain and brimstone, and heat and pressure? But there is too much sensation - too much familiar, earthly sensation for him to truly feel dead. A hard surface beneath him actually feels cool to the touch. His skin burns with urgent, fiery pain in four distinct places. And there is weight on his upper plastron, and something...

 

Something is strapped to his face! They wouldn't strap something onto his face in Hell, would they? Something else must be going on -- but his situation is still so uncertain and disorienting that he can't feel completely relieved.

 

Raphael’s hands lift with effort, fighting against the pressure, needing to investigate. He’s not expecting it when his hands settle onto one of his brother's -- but he squeezes it instinctively. Now  _ that _ is cause for some relief. Whatever he is up against, at least he isn't facing it alone. 

 

Wait…

 

One of his brothers is pressing some kind of mask onto his face. The unbroken darkness. The deep whirring rumble, he has heard and felt that before. Came to loathe it, actually. Spacecraft? And spacecraft meant...  _ aliens!  _ The bugs! Those alien bugs who were abducting people. The botched fight, those whip-like stinger-tentacles descending…

 

“Donnie!” he cries, muffled by the mask and his brother's stubborn grip. The pain, the lingering venom in his system... even the heavy, smelly, fucked up air on this ship is working against him! But Raphael exerts that same incredible will to survive which saved him in the drowning nightmare and manages to struggle upright. 

 

-

 

Don jerked into a much more alert state of consciousness when Raph’s hand closed around his arm in an iron grip. His nostrils flattened against his face as he struggled not to lose his small gasp of air in surprise and relief. He sagged against the bars, trying to pull Raph closer, trying to see him. But every movement used up energy and his ability to hold in his breath against the constant crushing pressure of the spaceship. 

 

_ Quit struggling _ , he thought tiredly, fighting to keep the oxygen mask on Raph’s face as he squirmed.  _ I’m going to need this really soon, and I need you to figure that out, or we’re both in trouble. _

 

They couldn’t sign to each other in the darkness, he could barely hear his own name spoken through the mask- what could he do? He flipped his arm under Raph’s, getting a grip on his wrist and bringing his hand up to his face. He nuzzled Raph’s palm, resisting the urge to breathe in the comforting scent of his brother.  _ Do you see? _

 

Raph either didn’t get the idea or was too agitated to do much more than push against him, and Don began to feel his own panic rising again.  _ What if something’s wrong with him? I can’t see- and I can’t just remove the mask to take a breath without warning him- I need to  _ **_see_ ** _ him-! _

 

With all his strength, he wrenched Raph’s body upright against the bars, and pressed their foreheads together, his hands still pressing the mask to Raph’s mouth and Raph’s fingers to his lips. His eyes searched the darkness for the golden glint of the eyes that he knew must be less than a few inches from his own, but found nothing. But Raph was warm, and he was breathing, and Donnie took comfort in that even as his lungs threatened to fail.

 

-

 

Raph is slow on the uptake. Let's blame the extra doses of alien bug venom. He is immediately calmed by the realization that Don is not only near but alert and conscious. He falls still, but winds up blinking in confusion.  _ Is Donnie gonna kiss my hand? Okay, nuzzle it. But that is definitely his mouth. What in the world…?  _

 

It hits him all at once, what his brother is trying to convey -- possibly with the last of his ebbing strength -- and he is immediately furious. Raphael’s whole body lurches forward, his plastron striking the unexpected metal bars with a dull clack. 

 

“Those evil motherfuckers!” he attempts to curse their enemies, though how much of that is intelligible under the mask is hard to say. He pulls it to the side a little and manages to speak more clearly, though it is still a scratchy growl. “I gotcha, Donnie…” 

 

He draws a deep breath from the mask then tears it off and gropes for his brother through the bars, pressing it firmly into those familiar hands.  _ Why would those bastards give ME a mask and not you? It makes no sense!   _ But he can't spare the breath required to voice those questions. 

 

Maybe these aliens are truly diabolical. Maybe somehow they knew that it would be a far better fate to have died than to wake up next to the corpse of one of his brothers.

 

-

 

Donnie barely fit the breather over his face before he was sucking in deep, gasping lungfuls of blessedly sulphur-free air. 

 

“Raph! Raph, you scared me,” He choked, trying to hug him through the bars. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts so that he could let Raph know the situation. It was the natural order of things; when Leo wasn’t around, Raph was in charge, and Donnie was happy to follow his lead. 

 

“I believe we’re on a spaceship. I woke up maybe an hour ago, I think. My shoulder and leg hurt from where I got stung, and I feel really dizzy from the fumes but otherwise I’m OK. I found a human, but I’m not sure if any others have been taken. I- I don’t know why you’ve been separated from me. I had an oxygen mask, and you- you didn’t, and...and you probably have to breathe again, I’m sorry,” He finished, taking a huge gulp of air and shoving the device back towards Raph.

 

He listened to the telltale suction noises from the mask.  _ I hope that thing has unlimited air, or else this trip will be over soon.  _ Don pushed up against the bars, trying to maintain as much contact with his brother as possible. He hoped Raph didn’t mind. He hoped Raph couldn’t feel his erratic heartbeat, or the sweat that slicked his skin and dripped off quickly, heeded by the stronger pull of gravity. Raph was stronger than all of this, and it calmed Donnie to know he was nearby. 

 

A red light started flashing like a lighthouse above them. It sluiced through the pitch black room, painting a scene with every sweep across the walls. Donnie stared at the light, ignoring the way it burned his retinas.  _ That can’t mean anything good. _

 

-

 

Raphael has never been known as the cuddly one among his brothers, but this situation is pretty fucking terrifying. When Don reaches for him through the bars, he stretches as much as he can to return the embrace. Donnie is the only thing familiar in a world that has otherwise been turned upside-down.

 

He wasn't yet desperate for the air -- next to the drowning dream, that bit of time holding his breath was nothing -- but he's not going to refuse the mask. He doesn't say anything right away, just breathes and tries to absorb the information Don just spilled. Aside from the news about the captured human, it's basically what he already gathered from the available clues. Still… abducted by aliens! Taken off planet!  It's a hard truth to swallow.

 

When he does finally pull his mask aside to speak, it is only to apologize. “I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Donnie. I shoulda been able to prevent this. I shoulda got us both AWAY from those… roach scorpion things, I...” 

 

He trails off as the red light starts flashing. Raphael’s grip on his brother tenses in quiet dread as he mutters, “Christ, what now…? How’re we supposed to  _ fight  _ in this screwed up gravity, with just one mask?” 

 

It seems like a given, that combat should soon follow. Raph already knows these aliens wanted him dead. It only makes sense that they would follow up to make sure the lack of oxygen finished him off. Suddenly he is taking another deep, preparatory breath and then tearing the mask off, thrusting it back through the bars. For all he knows, these bugs might be colorblind. If they're about to have company, he doesn't want their captors mistakenly believing it was Don who murdered one of their kin.

 

-

 

Don watched in alarm as Raph prepared himself for a battle, and fumbled with the mask in his hands, quickly putting it on. “Raph, don't be daft! We  _ can't  _ fight, don't waste your energy-” 

 

**_Boom._ **

 

The sudden deafening noise echoed through the ship, and Don flattened himself to the ground instinctively, covering his head, crying out in fear. The floor was shaking, and he felt for Raph's arm for something to grip onto. 

 

_ What the shell is going on? Is the ship under attack? _

 

The lurching and shuddering of the floor felt like it lasted an eternity. His limbs were jarred and the noise reverberated around his head long after it had actually stopped. Don eventually lifted his head, realising with a jolt that he’d monopolised their oxygen supply for too long.

 

“ _ Raph! _ Raph, I’m so sorry, here-”

 

He was interrupted from passing the mask back by another sound of screeching metal, much closer, localised to one corner of the room. Donnie shrank back from the bars, dragging himself away from his brother as a very dim light from an adjacent room outlined the heavy door that had just been opened and the silhouette of a hulking figure that squeezed itself through. 

 

_ It’s one of the roaches, _ Don realised with revulsion. _ I guess they don’t really need any light to get around. But why didn’t they design the doors any larger to accommodate their size? _

 

The roach wasn’t carrying any weapons; Don already knew their stingers were enough. He cringed as it headed their way, but it veered off -unhindered by the gravity- towards the human girl he’d found earlier. 

 

He watched in silence as the roach produced some kind of collar from within its armour-like plating, and struggled to fit it around some part of the girl using its spiny feet. It made clicking and whirring noises, in frustration he assumed, and another creature appeared in the doorway and hurried over to the roach. 

 

The new alien was much smaller, and humanoid. Don watched them in fascination, still flattened to the floor. The small alien seemed much better suited to the ship. Maybe they and the roaches were allies? Were they sharing the vessel? 

 

Some more clicking noises from the roach, which the other alien seemed to understand.  _ Jhanna’s universal translator would be really handy right about now _ , Don thought, watching the smaller creature quickly fit the device to the girl, who was thankfully still unconscious. A soft ‘click’, and then her body rose into the air in a weightless suspension.  _ For easy transport…  _

 

Don shifted against the floor, wishing he had his bo. The roach, reminded of his presence, turned very slightly. Its antennae twitched, and it issued a very short command in its clicking language.

 

The pair of aliens headed in their direction, the girl drifting along eerily behind them as if tied by an invisible leash, and Donnie prayed to a god that he didn’t believe in that they’d make it out of this, somehow.  _ Please don’t do anything stupid Raph, _ he thought desperately, as the roach stopped, looming over them. 


	3. I like you, Killer

“These are the, the two earth creatures I meant to show you -- not humans, as you can see! No, these are rare creatures. A most unexpected discovery...” The Kiralthan’s slender fingers tapped together nervously. “I believe the Commander will find these two the most interesting of today’s captured. Both strong young specimens. We are still trying to determine gender. We’ve got nothing like them in the system, but already they have displayed some encouraging protective and affectionate behavior. So there’s a good chance these two you have are pair bonded.”  

 

“Why has this one no breather?” the Slavelord clicked. 

 

“Yes, precisely the problem,” Jero agreed. “There was an unfortunate  _ incident _ during collection. This one fought hard for the life of its mate and the Raid Leader Igska’s hatchmate was slain. He was -- wrathful. Heh, quite understandably! But his punishment for this one is, perhaps, not in the best interests of the Infestation. It was Igska’s wish that this one should… ‘wake to his mate’s cold corpse’, I believe it was said. But they have foiled him with some rather fascinating self-induced stasis. I’d have to study it closer…” 

 

_ Too much, too technical,  _ the Kiralthan admonished silently, knowing how little patience the Cruax had for such details.  _ Wrap it up.  _

 

“Once this one roused from stasis, they began to share masks. So they are both--”  _ Sentient and intelligent beings _ , Jero wanted to say. But the Kiralthan dared not express sympathy for a fellow humanoid and amended with terms his audience would better receive. “--capable of receiving and following orders. More worthy as captures to claim for the raid. And of interest to the Slavelords in particular, as a potential long-term asset.”

 

If the Slavelord standing in front of him was still listening, he gave no sign of it. He was studying the closer of the two shell-backed creatures like it was particularly fascinating prey. “This one is our killer. I can still smell our fallen brother's guts on him. See how fiercely he snarls, even without a breather...”

 

The Cruax leaned closer to the creature, close enough to wind spindly antenna around the bars of the cage. The captive alien’s courage failed him then, shrinking back from the bars to avoid being touched. Then he snarled again. It sounded like a challenge. “I like you, Killer,” the Slavelord clicked, two more antenna snaking around the bars. “Your hatchlings will grow strong in my care and serve the Infestation.”

 

He turned away from the creature abruptly, pushing away from the cage. The Slavelord’s wings flexed open briefly, a startling image illuminated by the spinning red light, gone by the next pass.

 

“Salvage them. Air and water, now.  Then fetch the blue one to make medicines. Prepare a suitable habitat. Breed them. Bring me eggs, hatchlings, spawn -- whatever young they produce.” 

 

The Slavelord ticked off several orders on his way out, forcing the Kiralthan to suppress his shudder over the wings -- and the ready weapons casually coiled beneath them.  “An egg, I would imagine, from our initial scans,” Jero babbled. He had to race alongside the insectoid to keep up with him. All of his kind were  _ uncomfortably _ fast. “I will see to it immediately.  And would you see to, ahh -- well, I imagine Raid Leader Igska will be wrathful when he learns of Killer's survival…”

 

The massive bug stopped and swiveled its upper body to look at him. Flat black eyes drilled into him. The apathy staring back was utterly chilling. But all the Cruax said was: “You have served the Infestation well by bringing this to me. I will forbid Igska to kill you.” 

 

“Thank you, Lord,” Jero ducked his head quickly, knowing it was the best offer of protection he was going to receive. “I'll go fetch that breather and water for the captives…”

 

A low click of dismissal. The Cruax retrieved the lead which imprisoned the suspended woman and dragged her along behind him as he departed. The side of her head struck the ill-fitting door as the Lord pulled her through it, though neither the alien nor the unconscious girl paid this any mind.

 

Soon, Jero was coaxing the vicious terrapin tentatively, dangling a breather and beckoning with gentle tones and gestures. He was not keen to stick his hands into the bars. These things had not even been scrubbed for diseases yet, and were reportedly quite savage. This one was being rather stubborn however. He switched tactics, moving to the adjacent cage. 

 

The Kiralthan flipped his translator to human English. Perhaps these terrapins shared a common tongue with the humans they had collected from that same region. “You there! Terrapin. You’re the sensible one, aren't you? No, don’t bother telling me your name.” Jero held up a slender white hand. “It's illegal to speak it now. You’ll either be assigned one by the Lords in time, or you won't... I would say it is wiser to remain beneath their notice. But in this case, it worked out for your companion. So come and take another breather, won’t you? Give it to Killer over there and make him wear it.  Preferably before he is blue and gasping.”

 

The Kiralthan jiggled the mask impatiently.  _ Wouldn't that be a shame, to have presented their lives as worth saving due to the likelihood of a mated pair -- only to have the one the Slavelord liked best perish anyway!  Such a day as this has been, it would just be fitting... _

 

-

 

Don stared, wide-eyed, as the small alien casually barked out full sentences in perfect English, although with a slight lilt to the words, an accent he couldn’t describe. 

 

He tried to swallow, but his throat was achingly dry. “Can you...understand me?” He asked, reaching carefully for the mask, wary of those slender fingers and Raphael's growling from behind the bars. It was a risk worth taking. With the alien watching him curiously, Don snatched the mask from his slackened grip, and fitted it over his own face. He’d be damned if he gave a faulty breather to Raph. The few lungfuls of air he took seemed no different to that from the other mask, so he slid that one over to Raph, using his peripherals to make sure he put it on. 

 

_ They called him Killer. What will they do to us? _

 

“Where are you taking us? What did the other one say?” Don asked urgently, now that the immediate problem of Raph’s continued survival was taken care of. He was more than a little relieved to see what appeared to be a universal translator, similar in design to the one Jhanna had worn. It made him both nervous and hopeful to think that the Omatrons and this alien shared technology.  

 

\--

 

“Yes, I understand you perfectly well,” the diminutive alien asserted. There was an owl-like quality to his round eyes and wide face.  “And no, you cannot have one. Nor should you want one! Trust me, you would not enjoy being able to converse with them directly. They might put you to any number of uses…As to where we are headed, you are seen as a beastial race and will be transported to a suitable habitat at the Zoo of Kiralt. Or, a barbaric spectacle masquerading in its place, anyway...”

 

“So you ain't friends with these creeps, I take it?” Raphael growled, though his aggressive posture had relaxed considerably. Now that the giant bug was gone and he and his brother both had a steady supply of air, he was feeling a lot calmer.

 

The pale alien twitched and glanced off into a dark corner, perhaps afraid of being monitored by unseen eyes. “I am a loyal slave of the Cruax and live to serve the Infestation,” he intoned flatly, as if the words had been repeated many times. His face pinched with distant sadness and he added, “Just a sentimental old fool who fondly remembers a time now lost… pay me no attention. Now, I will entertain one more question. Then I must leave you. I was asked to fetch a medic who will tend to any immediate injuries.”

 

At this, Raphael blinked at the alien and then glanced at Donatello. He trusted his brother to think of a smarter question than he could. 

 

\--

 

Donnie caught Raph’s look as he was handballed the opportunity for questioning. His brain worked quickly as he stared at the impatient alien.  _ He obviously doesn’t want to answer anything about his own past, so questions relating to the whole slave business are probably fruitless. He’s told us as much as he is likely to know about where we are headed, so that’s another dead end. Leo and Mikey aren’t here, so it’s best to assume they’re safe back on Earth, but should I ask after the human girl? Maybe they already have other humans, in their- in their  _ **_zoo_ ** _. Oh, boy, we’re going to a zoo. Better than a morgue or a mad scientist’s dissection table I suppose. But what purpose will we serve in a zoo? _

 

“What use are we to the- to the Cruax?”

 

He tried to say the name in the same manner that the alien had, but he wasn’t sure if the shuddering inflection was the proper pronunciation or something else. Either way, it gave the alien pause, as he considered Donatello. Maybe the Earthlings were beginning to understand the gravity of their situation.  

  
“Breeders,” Jero said simply, and left them, taking the only light in the room.


	4. Breeders

Donatello had never liked horror movies, but he always sat through them whenever Mikey was in the mood. The images tended to stick in his mind, and come back to haunt him. Like now.

 

“You know that scene from Alien, when the thing bursts out of the guy’s chest? I wonder if that will be us. Because there is no way I can possibly give birth to anything through my tail. I wonder who they’ll try to breed us with, I wonder how they’ll do that. Or will it be some kind of artificial insemination?” Donatello paused in his tirade, staring blankly at the unending darkness of the room, keeping a light hold on his brother’s arm. 

 

“ _ Breeders _ . Maybe we’re inseminating something else? Is that what they want? Why would they want that? How would they do that? There is no way I’m willingly putting my-  _ me _ into something that’s not- would they use drugs? God, I hope they use drugs, at least. What about that scene in Prometheus-” 

 

-

 

“You  _ hope  _ they use drugs? What -- how does that even --” Raph is spluttering at the possibility. Finally he has to shake his head and insist. “Nobody is giving you a god damned  _ epidural,  _ okay? I will shank somebody before it comes to that.”

 

He scowls into the darkness and adds,  “Look, it’s probably not gonna turn out like one of Mikey’s stupid movies. And if it did? It would already be better than  _ Prometheus,  _ and you know why? Because there’s actually ALIENS in this shit. What scene are you even talking about, anyway? The one with the giant penis-with-a-vagina-head monster? God, where did that thing even come from? Where did it go? Was there any reason for it, except so fanboy nerds could go on the Xenomorphapedia or whatever and debate about that shit for hours on end?” 

 

Okay, so maybe ranting about bad Alien prequels is an easier thing to think about than their actual situation. 

 

-

 

“At least if I was knocked out then I wouldn't have to live through it,” Don reasoned, gesturing angrily at the blackness. “Even with everything we've been through, I've never really had to suffer any bodily mutilation. Torture, yeah, there's been mind probes and I think I've even been cut on by Bishop. But...stuff happening to my insides? That scares the shell out of me, Raph. I don't want to be someone else's experiment.” 

 

Don let himself hunch further down with the gravitational weight. “Especially because there isn't any room in here for expansion, y’know?” He rapped on his plastron. “We wouldn't get all lovely and swollen like human ladies. We’d…” 

 

He swallowed, and swivelled his head over to Raph's approximate direction. “I'm glad you're here with me.”

 

-

 

“I’m glad you're here too,” Raph sighs, leaning against the bars and using them to help him stay upright. “And at the same time, I'm not. I’d rather you were back home safe with Leo and Mike so you wouldn't have to worry about real life facehuggers or… or any of this.” He reaches through the bars to clasp his hand over Donnie’s, giving it a squeeze. 

 

It's only then, as they are holding hands in the dark, that another possibility occurs to Raph. “Maybe… maybe they just think it was kinda gay, how I went after you when you were in trouble. Maybe they got the wrong idea?”

 

-

 

Donnie barked a short laugh. “Gay? What do you- oh.  _ Oh _ .” He looked down at their hands. “You don’t think they mean to… us? Together?”  _ That would be insane. Surely they’d know if that was even possible before they decided our future, in their zoo. Surely they’d know we’re both males. But...maybe the Cruax aren’t all that smart, and maybe the other aliens aren’t all that inclined to make any suggestions otherwise. I know I wouldn’t.  _

 

“As weird as it sounds, that makes me pretty relieved,” Don admitted, sliding down against the bars. “It seems way more likely than everything else I was suggesting. Occam’s razor says you’re probably right. Although...” His voice cracked, and he coughed. “That does come with a whole host of other problems, for us.”

 

The silence from Raph’s portion of the room indicated that Don might need to explain some more. He chewed on his tongue for a moment. “Uhm, Raph. What if it’s in our best interest, to, let them assume they’re right about us for a while longer? Instead of- say- them deciding to  _ make _ one of us a girl, which ends up with me getting cut open again. Because, of the two of us,” Don snorted, “I think they’ve decided  _ Killer _ is the man in this relationship.”

 

-

 

“No way, Donnie. That ain't fair. We should totally rock paper scissors for who has to get turned into a girl by aliens.” Raph winds up laughing in spite of himself. It’s all so crazy. Maybe it's just nerves. 

 

“You don't think they could  _ really _ do that, do you? I mean, if they're so advanced they can change our parts around…” He shudders. “Isn't it more likely they could just make some kinda -- clone, or -- ugh, I dunno. What can we do, but wait and see?”

 

-

 

Don chuckled weakly, picturing them both lying on an unmarked bench doing paper-scissors-rock while faceless aliens stood around ready with montrous surgical tools. He didn’t feel like Raph really grasped the situation, but he didn’t feel up to trying to explain either. It wouldn’t be great for morale. He just squeezed their hands a little tighter. 

 

“Yeah. Wait and see.”

 

\--

 

The ship had been stopping periodically for hours now, heralded by the flashing red light. Don pressed his ear against the floor, listening as the engines whined in protest and the main turbines shut down reluctantly- he guessed that this space ship wasn’t designed to touch down on a planet all that often.

 

“Aaaand we’ve landed again,” He said unnecessarily to Raph. “But I haven’t heard any more activity from the cargo bay-”

 

The heavy door to the room banged open, and Don shrank back against the bars. There was the same alien as before, accompanied by two others holding sharp sticks that sparkled with electrical charge. Don wondered if those kinds of weapons were universally painful. He suddenly wished he was in Raph’s cage; at least there was a barrier between his brother and those sticks.

 

It seemed their assigned alien was tired of talking, because it merely gestured for Don to stand up, which he did so with difficulty. The gesture was repeated to Raph, and the guards hovered around the bars of the cage as it was unlocked. The pale alien attached a short chain, like a leash, to a clip around Don’s wrist, and gave another cord to a guard to attach to Raph. The other ends went to a belt on the alien’s waist. Don guessed it was stronger than it looked. The alien was obviously responsible for them, and it was visibly nervous. Nothing like being chained to Killer and his ‘mate’. The alien started walking, tugging Don and Raph along, who moved sluggishly with their protesting muscles.  

 

The guards were practically frog-marching Raph, and ignoring Don. He wondered if he could use his relative freedom to their advantage. He was torn between studying the lock mechanism on the belt, and observing their surroundings for any hints or clues. How big was the ship, how many people were needed to operate it? Who did they need to keep alive? Who would make good hostages?

 

They reached an air-lock, and Jero nodded to one of the guards, who operated the doors. Don had to stop himself from holding his breath as they passed through the chamber. 

 

And suddenly, there was light.

 

It was blinding, after their long stint in pure darkness. Don brought his hands up immediately to shield his eyes, protesting the intensity with a yell. 

 

“Calm yourself,” Jero said boredly. “Our sensors indicated that Sol is no less bright.”

 

“This is daylight?!” Don said incredulously, his closed eyes watering.

 

Jero’s face twisted into what Don would almost call a smile, if he’d been able to see it. They were tugged along a hard path blindly, for what felt like an age.  _ The gravity’s the same as on the ship,  _ Don realised.  _ This must be their home planet.  _ He stumbled occasionally over rocks, and was buffeted by a strong wind. The temperature at least seemed comparable to Earth’s. 

 

His eyes burned, but he could manage to make out shapes if he squinted. Swirling dust was an added irritant. They were approaching a huge dome, which dominated his line of sight, but there were others in the far-field on his vision. _ A dome for each ‘exhibit’? _

 

When they’d drawn close to the perimeter, he could no longer see the curvature of the tinted glass, it stretched so far above their heads like a skyscraper. Glare from the sun reflected off the dome in a fractal pattern, and the ground thrummed with vibrations from huge generators. Jero opened an outer door with a simple pinpad, and they followed obediently into a control room, filled with monitors and instrumentation that observed every inch of the dome. 

 

A voice, low and controlled, spoke up from the other end of the room. 

 

“Welcome to the Zoo.”


	5. Welcome to the Zoo

“We didn’t have much time to prepare, so we had to guess most of the habitat parameters based on their description,” The Omatran said smoothly, his eyes flicking up from one of the many control boards to look over Don and Raph. “I suspect it will require some...trial and error.”

 

“You could just ask us?” Don spoke up timidly. Everyone ignored him. 

 

“In spite of this, I believe we’ve managed to recreate a fair approximation of the terrain they were captured from. Assuming this data is accurate,” he said, looking pointedly over at the pale alien. Jero puffed up indignantly. 

 

“The data is exact! I would do nothing to jeopardise the plan of our Lords.”

 

“Then you may send them down into Receiving. They’ll need a preliminary examination, and to be thoroughly cleaned, if your cargo bays are as filthy as I recall,” the Omatran said haughtily. As Jero simmered with anger, the Omatran fiddled with his translator, and posed another question at the Kiralthan in his native language, nodding her head in Raph’s direction. Don found it extremely difficult not to interject and politely point out how rude it was to speak a language that other people in the room didn’t understand. 

 

“Should we mention Jhanna?” Don whispered to Raph. “We might not get another chance to talk to an Omatran; he’s a possible ally. Although I’m not sure how he got here, so maybe he isn’t friendly to the throne, which would make that a bad idea. And I think we’re better off lying low.”

 

-

 

“How should I know?” Raphael pulled the mask aside to wonder, looking unsettled. “You’re the one who spent all that  _ time  _ with Jhanna…” 

 

Those are strategy questions, and normally Leonardo would be on the receiving end of them.  _ But Leo isn't here. _ Raph sighed and decided he had better put more effort into being a good sounding board, for Donnie’s sake. 

 

“Okay, so… This guy is obviously working for the bugs, right? Because Jhanna wasn't all about abducting people and putting them in zoos. But maybe by dropping her name, we could score points anyway. Just for already knowing something  _ about _ Omatrans, you know? Maybe he’d treat us more… well, more like  _ people. _ ”

 

It occurs to Raph that he’s been talking for a while without replacing his mask. In fact, he’s taken several breaths now without realizing it! The turtle blinks, then impulsively rips the mask off entirely.  “Hey, check it out…” He dangles it, then clutches it closer and realizes, “I don't really want to give it up, though. How could we get away without one?” Raph peers at their surroundings, squinting against the glare, as if he expects a suitable hiding place to jump out at him.

 

\--

 

“Raph! You still don’t know if that’s safe!” Don hisses in alarm. “Just...put it back on, maybe they’ll let us keep them?” He was a little nervous at the idea of removing his own mask anyway. 

 

“Also, what if the Omatran guy tells anyone else that we know about Jhanna? She’s pretty high-profile, for them anyway, which could make us kinda interesting, and possible sources of information. I think it’s a gamble, and I don’t know enough of the variables,” He fretted, as the aliens finished their conversation. 

 

“This way,” Jero muttered, in blessed English once more, leading them back outside and towards a different set of heavy doors. Don looked back over his shoulder, at the Omatron watching them impassively. And then the door was shut behind him and the chance was gone. Thick bolts slid into place, and an energy field fizzled into life, barring any hopes of escape. 

 

They were marched along a dimly lit service corridor. With every step Don felt lighter, and he looked over quizzically at Raph to see if he noticed the same effect.  _ They customised the dome for us,  _ Don thought with dawning realisation.  _ Is this really what one G is like? I feel like I could bounce up and touch the moon. If this planet has a moon.  _ Despite their grim situation, the physical weight off his shoulders was like a weight lifted from his mind too. He almost smiled at the looks the guards were giving each other as they tried to overcompensate with their steps to avoid limbs moving too quickly. 

 

The corridors turned into a rabbit warren, a maze, littered with bulkhead doors every few dozen paces. It would be easy to contain anything that managed to escape the dome, which was a moot point if you didn’t know your way. Even Jero had to pause and recount his steps a few times, bobbing his head as he did. Don wondered if every dome had the same layout, or if Jero just knew this dome in particular very well. Assuming the ‘animals’ stayed in the same habitat for the length of their captivity, which would be logical if they didn’t want to terraform environments on a constant basis, then Jero’s job would be to simply drop off new animals at their intended dome. So he wouldn’t have any reason to know only the layout of one particular dome- meaning all the domes were the same. Don filed this knowledge away for later; if they needed to rescue anyone from other domes, they’d only need to know how to get out of their own. He tried to memorise the turns they took. _ Left, left, right, left, middle fork, right …   _

 

They moved quickly, and Don didn’t have any time to repeat and cement the directions in his mind, he just listed them hopelessly as they walked. On and on. All he knew was that they were still moving around the edge of the dome. He took note of everything he could. They were passing rooms without windows. The thrumming of the generators was more prominent under their feet in this section. His breather made less noise; the filter didn’t need to work so hard to modify the air.  __

 

Jero stopped in front of another large door, an airlock to the medical bay Don assumed, and put a hand on his belt to unclip them. He looked at them as he did so, daring them to make a move, to try and find their way out. Don didn’t know when they’d get a better opportunity, but he also knew how impossible it would be to find an exit, and what to do from there. But he touched Raph’s hand again, trying to let him know non-verbally that whatever Raph’s decision, he’d go along with it. 

 

-

 

Raphael’s first instinct is to fight, of course. That brief touch from Don feels like a go-ahead.  But the moment he takes an aggressive step forward, he hears a sound that gives him pause -- the soft ‘whooommm’ of violent energy, the Omatran’s blaster charging up and ready to fire. Apparently this slave is trusted with weapons.

 

And he isn't pointing the blaster at Raph. He’s pointing it at  _ Donnie _ . 

 

After a tense moment facing off in frozen tableau, Raphael swears under his breath and stands down. Slowly he lifts his hands in the air, and the pair seem to accept the universal sign of surrender.

 

“Thank you,” the Omatran offered stiffly. “Being in charge of your health, I’d rather not create more work for myself.” He doesn't put the blaster away, but gestures with it. 

 

Raphael stared at the blue-skinned alien as he moved, trying to daunt him, but he fails to get so much as a flinch. He had initially underestimated the Omatran, unimpressed by his skinny physique. The warrior Jhanna had been far more impressive as a physical match for them. He’s not sure what motivates the little blue guy, that he should be so fearless in the face of an angry ninja. He is still wondering about it as the pair of them are herded through the door.

 

\--

 

Don was shaken by how easily the Omatran had read Raph.  _ Although maybe it’s not supernatural insight- maybe the Omatran was told we were a mated pair. In which case it would make sense that Raph would value my life over his own, even if the real reason is just a familial bond. But I’m still not sure if we should encourage this line of thinking or not.  _ He was also more than a little relieved that Raph had been made to stand down. As much as he wanted out of this place and as willing as he was to follow Raph’s orders, his body just did not feel up to an suicidal escape. Being in an alien medical room brought back all the stabbing sensations and muscle aches caused by the roaches’ needle-like weapons, and he rubbed at his shoulder without thinking.

 

The Omatran saw the motion and shook his head, shifting his braid of wiry silvery-blue hair. “The Cruax’s methods for taking in captives are effective,” He mused, poking at Don’s shoulder with a pen of some sort. “As well as barbaric.” The impact point of the weapon was bruised and had left dark purple trails of its sedative snaking out under his skin like poisonous tendrils. At least Don only had 2 wounds; now that he could properly see his brother in the light, Raph looked almost alien himself with the way his veins were coloured all over his body like ink, like his very blood had been stained.  _ Please let there be no long-term effects _ , he thought worriedly.  _ It seems like a miracle that he’s still standing at all. _

 

The Omatran was apparently thinking along similar lines. He walked around Raph in concentrated thought, unconcerned by the very feral look that he was being given. Don wrung his hands, looking at all the strange tools and devices lining the walls, and his panic about dissection and body modification came back in full force.

“Given how he’s reacted to the  _ tau-mah _ , this one may need a larger dose,” The Omatran observed to Jero, who was loitering in the doorway, bored. 

 

“Then give it to him, I don’t care, as long as the Cruax get what they want.” 

 

“Which is…?” Don asked tentatively. He didn’t like the sound of whatever  _ dose _ the aliens were planning to give to Raph.

 

They both ignored him again. It was maddening to be able to understand them, and yet be denied any conversation. Don was starting to miss Bishop’s monologues and taunts; at least that made him feel like a worthy threat. They weren’t anything, here. Just...animals. 

 

Their meagre clothing was removed, and they were each subjected to what Don could only describe as a sonic shower. Every speck of dirt and sweat was removed from his body in moments, evaporated by pulse vibrations in the air around him. It was only then that the Omatran touched them, after physically restraining Raph. 

 

Don was held in place against the wall out of sheer fear of the tools in the alien’s hand, which the Omatran seemed to sense.  _ They’re underestimating me, and I need to use this, _ he told himself, while every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run. He twitched, and the Omatran’s grip on his edge of his plastron tightened. 

 

“It’s much easier if you co-operate,” He said, but the look he gave wasn’t sinister. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

 

_ Sure you don’t,  _ Don’s mind replied sarcastically.  _ You’re just a curious scientist with no empathy. Which is just about the most dangerous thing a person can be.  _

 

“Get to the important bit, Medic,” Jero said impatiently. 

 

The Omatran sighed, and Don felt the wandering hand work its way between his legs. He cried out in alarm as the fingers tightened around his curled-up tail, and he moved to push away-

 

_ ZAP.  _

 

Sudden, shooting agony that set every nerve ending alight, a huge electric charge pulsing through him from the crackling weapon the Omatran was holding against his thigh. By the time his brain had registered that screaming was an appropriate reaction to such an intense torture, it was over, and Don stood on shaking legs in front of the Omatran, gasping, his chest heaving, his eyes wet. 

 

Medic waited a few moments, watching Don struggle to collect himself, and then reached for his tail again. Don shuddered convulsively, but didn’t try to stop him this time. The stick was held loosely in the Omatran’s other hand, like it hadn’t just delivered the most pain Don had ever felt in his life. 

 

“Well?” Jero asked, unable to help his own curiosity. 

 

“I’m not sure,” Medic said slowly, running his glove-covered finger down the length of Don’s tail, pushing at his slit. Don’s felt his face heat up with shame, turning his head away so he wouldn’t feel the weight of Raph’s gaze.

 

“What’s there not to be sure about? There’s nothing there!”

 

“Sometimes...” Medic frowned, shifting slightly, and then unceremoniously pushing one finger as far as he could into Don, who choked on his own horrified gasp before they could electrocute him again. 

 

“Nothing. Female,” The Omatran declared after a few moments of probing, withdrawing his hand. “I was half-expecting to find otherwise, given her muscle mass. Good news, for you.” 

 

“Yes,” Jero agreed excitedly. He looked over at Raph. “Are you really going to do the same to Killer?”

 

“It’s standard procedure to identify them, but I’d pay good money to see  _ you _ do it,” the Omatran snorted, turning his attention to the other terrapin. 

 

-

  
  


As they strapped him into the restraints, Raphael was compliant. What else could he do, while that energy weapon was still trained on his brother? 

 

He's shocked when they actually zap Don. "What the-- NO! You didn't have to--" Raph splutters, but no one is listening to him. For two beings who keep claiming they don't want to cause pain, he wasn't expecting them to actually pull the trigger. Now he's straining angrily against his bonds. So far, it's a futile effort. 

 

By the time that blue-skinned doctor is probing his brother, Raphael is roaring in unintelligible, purple-faced outrage. He throws himself against the bonds hard enough to bruise his ankles and wrists. A trickle of blood is running from his right wrist down to his elbow by the time the two scientists have turned back in his direction.

 

"Rrr...I'll kill you. Kill you both," he promises them around a low snarl. The turtle’s whole body was thrumming with bottled rage.

 

"Give him the dose," Jero decided abruptly.

 

Medic looked startled by the suggestion, his almond eyes widening. "It isn't ready! We haven't even introduced them to their habitat yet, and you already want them..." 

 

"A half dose, then!" the smaller alien snapped. "Just enough to prove what we need to prove. I'm not putting my  _ hand  _ in that maniac!" 

 

“You’re such a coward,” the Omatran sneered under his breath, but he turned away to fetch the dose. 

 

“I’m a coward who was given back his name! Which ranks me above you, ‘Medic!’ So do as I command!” the Kiralthan huffed with insult.

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually  _ proud _ of that,” the blue-skinned alien muttered in a scathing tone, glancing back over one shoulder. But he was quick to produce a syringe that was half-filled with a yellow serum. 

 

“You bastards,” the shackled turtle was still spitting his bloody threats. “As soon as I'm free, I'm gonna shove that gun so far up your ass and pull the trigger. We’ll see how you like it!”

 

“How... colorful,” Jero commented. He glanced nervously at the syringe and tapped his thin fingers together. “This serum, it’s not likely to  _ kill _ him, is it?”

 

“Very unlikely,” the Omatran grunted, flicking the tip of the needle casually. 

 

“I’d really rather he didn't. The Slavelord showed particular interest in this one. And if he  _ does _ die, our orders are the same as they would be if we did not have a mated pair... We’d have to return to that backwater planet immediately and collect as many more of those damned things as we can find!”

 

“If you’ve changed your mind…” Medic gave the Kiralthan a thin-lipped, insincere smile, “there are some extra gloves right over there!”

 

Raphael’s irate snarls had fallen silent as the implications of that conversation sank in. His eyes sought Donatello’s and a frightened look of understanding passed between them. 

 

_ Leo and Mikey… _

 

“Do whatever the shell you want to me!” Raph suddenly asserted. “Just keep yer filthy paws off my...  _ beloved! _ ” He tried not to choke on the word, he really did!

 

Not that it mattered. They continued to ignore him.

 

“Give it to him,” Jero decided. “Let's settle this once and for all.”

 

“If you try to bite me, you’ll regret it,” the blue-skinned medic warned in a cool tone. “First I’ll use the gun, then I'll have you muzzled like a common  _ yiffet.  _ Understand?”

 

Raphael didn't know what a yiffet was, but he got the picture. It didn't stop him from trying to spit in the syringe-wielding doctor’s face. 

 

Unfortunately, the spit wad missed - and his mouth was too dry to work up any more ammunition. The next thing he knew, the alien had sunk the needle deep into his bicep and was depressing the plunger.

 

At first he felt nothing. 

 

Raph could see the horror written on his brother's face, but he wasn't scared of their drugs. It couldn't be any worse than getting repeatedly stung by giant evil bugs. 

 

Then he shuddered as a different sort of heat spilled over him. His breathing quickened. Suddenly his heart was pounding and his blood was racing through his veins. Smells were enhanced and every inch of his skin came alive with sensations. 

 

The first stab of panic sluiced through Raphael as it occurred to him that he might be going into cardiac arrest or having some kind of stroke. On the other hand, he wasn't sure what either of those felt like. And whatever was happening to him right now felt familiar...and at the same time,  _ wrong _ .

 

All at once, he put his finger on it. “Oh, God. It’s… it’s like _Spring_ ,” he gasped, mostly for Donnie’s benefit. “It’s like Spring, _times ten_.”

 

He thrashed his head and pulled against his restraints. But try as he might to resist, soon his cock was sliding out of his tail, purple-black and glistening, curving to the right ever so slightly… hanging there for all the world to see. 

 

“Well, there we have it--” The Kiralthan’s tone was nearly cheerful, though he falters mid-sentence. “--oh. Oh my!”

 

“Great suns. There's quite a lot of him, isn't there?” Both scientists seemed to have forgotten their quarrels as they stared in shared fascination. 

 

Just for a moment, Raphael is a picture of humiliation. He is eleven and learning the significance of late May all over again, with Leo and Mikey’s laughter ringing in his ears, hands clutched between his legs, fleeing the dojo in tears.

 

Donnie hadn’t laughed that day, and he wasn't laughing now.  _ Besides... these punks aren't  _ worth _ tears.  _

 

Slowly Raph lifted his head and fixed the alien with the empty syringe a hateful glare.“Yeah, that's great,” he snarled with fresh menace. “Now we can have really rough sex before I  _ murder you with my bare fucking hands!” _

 

The two aliens exchanged a glance. 

 

“Let's get one of those Mungluks to release him,” the Omatran suggested quietly. “You and I, we had better go... ahh, see to the habitat. Right?”

 

“Wisest thing you've said all day,” Jero approved. “One of those brainless hulks even owes me a favor!” 

 

-

 

Donatello hadn’t moved an inch since Medic had finished his examination of him. He’d been cuffed, put on another short leash attached to the wall, and had remained in his frozen tableau while his mind re-booted. 

 

He came out of his shock just when they decided to start sticking needles full of yellow serum into Raph, and almost lost it again. There had to be something he could do,  _ something- _

 

His eyes fell on the bench a few feet away. Rather than flinching away at the tools, he forced himself to look at them critically. He needed something small, something sharp... _ there _ . What looked like a scalpel, with a short bulbous end. 

 

Don glanced over and watched in horror as Raph’s skin went a blotchy red colour underneath the patchwork of dark veins and he started to sweat. Raph panted and shook against the bonds, and then spoke his realisation.

 

_ Spring.  _

 

_...Breeders. Of course. _

 

Knowing what was likely to happen next, and already shamed enough that Raph had had to watch him in a similar state of distress, Don used the distraction of their captors to steal the small knife. He reached up with one foot and plucked it from the table between his toes, quickly transferring it to his hands. He had just enough maneuvering room to reach around in the small gap between his body and the bottom lip of his shell, where he pressed the knife slowly into his hard carapace. It was the best place to hide anything, if you could make it stay there. His eyes watered again at the pain, but he didn’t mind so much. He now had a weapon. 

 

Raph howled threats better than anyone, and Don wasn’t all that surprised when the aliens made their exit. With difficulty, Don brought his eyes up to look at Raph, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. His brother’s eyes were bloodshot, and he was openly panting like he couldn’t get enough air. It was hard to ignore his other painfully obvious problem. 

 

“Are- are you O-”

 

They were interrupted by the arrival of the Mungluks. Large creatures built like boulders, with no eyes or mouths that Don could discern, and apparently very little brains. They did manage to unfasten the end of Don’s lead that was attached to the wall, and after a few minutes of head-scratching, pulled the panel that Raph was attached to off the wall, with Raph still restrained to it. He was tucked under the arm of a Mungluk, and Donnie tugged along behind them, looking in fascination at the trail of destruction they’d left behind. _ I hope that pisses off the Medic.    _

 

After another long walk through the winding maze which the Mungluks surprisingly had no trouble navigating, they were deposited in a small metal room that terminated the end of one corridor. The Mungluks shut the door on them, and not another noise was heard.  _ Thank goodness neither of us are claustrophobic,  _ Don thought, looking around at their close confines. The walls were perfectly smooth, and there were no internal mechanisms, to his disappointment.

 

There was a quiet beep, and his cuffs fell to the floor, and the translucent ties binding Raph to the broken chunk of wall fizzled out of existence. Don watched his brother warily. 

 

“It could be worse, right?” He said weakly. Raph’s silence was unnerving.  _ But then again, _ he mused,  _ Raph’s always been the type to say more with his actions.  _ He showed anger with violence and affection with bodily hugs; he communicated best through physical methods. So Donnie reached out and grasped his arm, trying to offer some degree of comfort. He was alarmed at how hot Raph was to touch, but didn’t let go. “Raph?”


	6. I'm in a metal case of emotion

The other turtle’s first instinct is to jerk away at the touch. He’s still all amped up from whatever it was they shot into his arm, and the residual effects of that drug are making him feel like he shouldn't be touching  _ anyone _ right now. 

 

“It could be  _ worse?”  _ he repeats. “My  _ dick _ was just touching a  _ rock monster _ . We’re, like, a  _ billion miles _ from home. And now we're naked and unarmed, trapped in a stupid metal box...” His eyes slowly survey their grim surroundings, finally alone enough to show a hint of his growing despair. 

 

“But -- hey, you're right! It could totally be worse. I suppose those rock monsters coulda had their way with us, right? Then we’d have some pretty serious  _ chafing _ to deal with, on top of the stinger wounds and fucked up skin and… and now I can’t even get my shit to go back into my tail, even though this has got to be the  _ least _ sexy moment in my whole goddamn life!” He punctuates this rant by slamming one of his fists into the blank metal wall. 

 

The eerie silence seems to swallow the sound of that violent impact. It makes a soft thud that is unlikely to disturb anyone outside those featureless metallic walls. He doesn't even get the satisfaction of leaving a dent.

 

“I'm sorry,” he says eventually, in a much gentler tone. Raph doesn’t look at Don, and lets his shoulders sag ever so slightly. “I'm not… I'm not mad at you, I promise. It’s just…” He gestures vaguely with one hand, the wrist still torn and oozing with fresh blood. “All of this. It's so fucked up.”

 

\--

 

Don tries not to let the hurt show on his face when Raph wrenches his arm away.  _ You’re the only connection I have to home- which is more likely to be  _ **_millions_ ** _ of billions of miles away _ .  _ We can’t afford to fight. _

 

“I know, Raph,” Don sighs, sitting down heavily next to his brother, grabbing at Raph’s wrist again so he can put pressure against the wound and hold it upright. “And I know it’s hard enough being around any of us when it’s...y’know, Spring, but we don’t have much choice. I promise I’m not totally freaked out,” He said, looking everywhere but at Raph’s thighs and general midriff. The impressive endowment of his brother was not something he’d have ever expected to find out, least of all on Day One of an alien abduction, after he himself had been emasculated by an Omatran.  _ Of course it’s Raph that gets all the girth. _ “I imagine the effects should just wear off after a certain amount of time, hopefully our skin too- it wouldn’t make sense for them to permanently alter the appearance of the creatures they’ve captured for their displays.”

 

He shifted uncomfortably against the wall, reminded of the small knife he’d purloined that was skewering his shell. _ I should give that to Raph when he’s calmed down, he’s better with blades than me anyway.  _ Don opted for a lighter change in subject. “Good news that they think I’m-”  _ Wait, hell. They’ve probably got this room bugged.  _ “Good news that I’m female, right?” Don said nervously. “At least they didn’t have to use any of those fancy alien tools.” Ignoring any protests, Don pressed his palm against Raph’s forehead to feel his temperature. It was scarily high. “I mean, besides the ‘dose’. How are you feeling...  _ beloved _ ?” He grinned.  _ I bet that was the first time Raph’s ever used that word. He said it all funny, like he’d read it before but wasn’t quite sure about the context.  _

 

-

 

It’s amazing, how accurately Don is able to read Raph. That is precisely the case.

 

He half turns and glances at Don, but it's sharp and fleeting. “Scared and murderous, mostly? I can't believe they--” He stops himself and grimaces, hating the fear that is becoming evident in his voice, in spite of having just fessed up to it. “And you got it worse than I did. I swear, Donnie...” His hands become fists. “No pacifist bullshit this time. Those creepy scientists need to  _ die _ for what they just did to us. This whole operation, whatever’s going on with this crazy bug zoo -- it's evil!”

 

Raphael looks at Don - really forces himself to be as brave and calm as he can - because that’s how Donnie is being, after all.  _ He seems to have no problem lookin’ me in the eye. Even though I’m still just... flapping in the breeze, here… Christ, shoot me now.  _

 

“Please, just… tell me you're  _ with _ me on this.” 

 

To be fair, Raph still looks and sounds pretty pissed off as he says this. But maybe an observant turtle like Donnie would be able to see that his eyes are pleading.

 

\--

 

Don knew that look in Raph’s eyes. He got it often enough, when Raph’s gut feeling was going against whatever plan Leo had, and Raph wanted him to take his side. Donatello had learned to trust Raph’s gut feeling.

 

“I’m with you, Raph,” He sighed. “Even if I don’t know how we can stop any of this. This- this Zoo, is a huge enterprise. It likely spans an entire continent, if not the whole planet. We’re just two turtles trapped in it.”

 

_ I wonder how long they’re going to keep us in this room.  _

 

Don glanced down and then up and away quickly, blushing. “Er. Maybe you’ll get a chance to, um. Deal with...y’know. The old-fashioned way.”

 

-

 

“Oh… uh.” Raphael blushes too. A few of the colored veins from a nasty sting on his exposed collarbone that have snaked up his neck and one side of his face even turn a deeper shade of purple. “I guess zoos back home normally do have a little cubby where critters can get away from stupid gawking humans for a while…” He says ‘zoos’, but the one in Central Park is truthfully his only frame of reference. 

 

Then Raph frowns darkly, his usual pessimism reasserting itself as he points out, “Bet it will be like one of them Springtime boners that are back two seconds after you pop!” 

 

\--

 

“Hopefully it won’t be as small as some of those cages,” Don said, scuffing his foot on the floor. His tail twinged from Medic’s rough treatment. “And some private areas would be ideal.”  _ They’ll probably have cameras all over those places, but best not to let Raph know that.  _ “Or maybe it’ll be like Survivor, and they’ll just provide the raw materials and we’ll have to build our own shelters, so they can get a feel for how different species think, and what they require. I wonder if they can simulate different weather inside the dome,” He mused, feeling a kind of thrill at the science of the idea and hating himself for it. 

 

He brought his mind back to Raph’s pressing issue. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that, uh, problem,” He admitted, nodding towards Raph’s waistline, his cheeks burning again. “I could always focus well enough on other things for a few hours.”  _ I guess that confirms he’s more of a man than I am.  _ His thoughts wandered to Jhanna.  _ Even if I have more experience.  _

 

-

 

That admission doesn’t do much to relieve Raphael’s blush. But then, he’s always suspected as much… The springtime affects him differently than it does the others. He is the freak among freaks. “Well, I do,” he growls. “Plenty. And there’s nothin’ fun about it, believe me. Especially not after the first couple days.” It makes his skin crawl, thinking about it. The truth is, Raphael knows  _ all about _ chafing.

 

The dour turtle decides to look for a bright side. There’s got to be one, right?  “At least this stuff shouldn’t  _ last  _ as long as mating season does, yeah? Do you have… I dunno, a guesstimate?” Clearly Donnie is already supposed to be an expert on alien aphrodisiacs in Raphael’s eyes.

 

\--

 

“Uhm.” This was up there in Don’s unfortunate list of top ten awkward conversations. “S-sometimes, I can tell how bad I’ve got it, based on, uh...colour. The darker...the, uhm. Oh, boy,” He muttered, burying his face in the crook of his arm.  

 

-

 

“You gotta color-changing wang?” Raph blurts, eyes widening. “Like a  _ mood wang?” _

 

\--

 

“Lord, give me strength,” Don muttered, biting on his fist to keep from hysterical laughter. A  _ mood wang _ . “It’s to do with the amount of blood, not...ah, forget it,” He smiled, shaking his head.

 

“Alright, wise guy, you tell me how long you think it’ll last. Try and remember how you felt during your last, erm, time of the year, and compare it to how you feel now. At what stage do you think you’re in?”

 

\--

 

“What  _ stage…?”  _ Raphael is properly baffled by the suggestion. It’s not like he catalogs his sexual peaks in a notebook like some kind of scientist. Does Donnie do stuff like that? Probably best not to speculate. 

 

“Somewhere between ‘down to fuck’ and ‘down to hump the arcade machine while Mikey’s still playing it?’” he grumped, making a spastic gesture in the space immediately in front of him. “How the shell should I know?”

 

\--

 

Don’s eyes widened. He slowly took his hand off Raph’s wrist. “What... _ what did you do?  _ Raph, if you’ve had sex with the arcade machine that I spent  _ weeks  _ fixing up, I’m going to wring your  _ neck! That thing is my baby! _ ”

 

\--

 

“Not while Mikey was playing it, that's the important takeaway here, okay? When you got problems like mine, you gotta learn some  _ self-restraint. _ ” Raphael is actually grinning now, in spite of all that's happened to them. Of course he never  _ actually  _ molested Don’s precious arcade machine, but Raph has never been one who could help pushing people's buttons and this is just too easy. “I don't know what you were thinking though, rebuilding the chassis with just a little bit of curve to it. All those hours of sanding, making it nice and  _ smooth _ …” 

 

He glances down in mock surprise. “Well, shit. I think I'm makin’ this problem  _ worse _ just thinkin’ about it!”

 

\--

 

Don knows when he’s being played, but that doesn’t make the thought of Raph grinding into his machine any less disturbing. But the grin on his brother’s face is contagious, and the banter is a welcome relief from their situation. 

 

“I put that groove there for  _ me _ , you had no right! I hope you enjoyed a thoroughly  _ used  _ machine.”

 

\--

 

“Nothing a little Clorox spray won't take care of.” Doesn't that sound like a wonderful idea, bleach all over that beautiful finish? “The coin slot is just for show, right? We could just stuff a splooge rag in there. It’d be real convenient!” 

 

Raphael is cackling now and lifts one hand to knuckle at his eyes. “For real, there mighta been some embarrassing motorcycle incidents though. It’s just so warm, and… y’know, it vibrates…” He starts laughing too hard to go on. It's amazing in some way, that he can admit these things at all. But on the other hand, it's hard to sweat the small stuff when you are stuck making conversation with a dick that won't retract. 

 

\--

 

“I can’t really judge you there,” Don mumbles, staring up at the ceiling, the warmth on his cheeks spreading down his neck with his embarrassment. “It’s still nothing like the real deal though.”  _ OK, that was never meant to slip.  _ “Uh! What- what I imagine, the real deal would be like.”  _ You are the worst liar, Donatello.  _ “I just hope you didn’t make a girlfriend out of any of  _ my  _ bikes, and stuck to your side of the garage, at least?” 

 

-

 

“Nananana, back up,” Raphael insists. “Okay. Unsurprising, for the record. I mean, I got up to take a leak at one point and you two were looking pretty tuckered out and cuddly. Side by side blankets and all. And I think I deserve some credit for never pestering you about it.” Because, Mikey… hoo boy, did he pester! 

 

Raph tilts his head to Donatello, mock-reprimanding, “But now that you went ahead and brought it up, you are honor bound to elaborate. Pretty sure it says that in the teachings of Bushido or... a ninja scroll or some shit.”

 

\--

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Don blurted, and scowled at Raph’s smirk. “I- we never-”

 

He’d had an inkling that Raph already knew. He knew  _ Leo  _ knew, because apparently his older brother had Vulcan hearing, and had stepped forward to offer some  _ very  _ awkward congratulations/condolences after Jhanna had disappeared the following morning. Mikey had the annoying tendency to come up with love songs and taunts if Don even  _ looked  _ sideways at a pretty girl (or boy, for that matter), so despite all the teasing, he didn’t think Mikey was in the know.

 

But why was it so difficult to admit it to Raph?

 

Don struggled with his words. He stared at his hands, thinking. “I didn’t say anything, because I- I didn’t...want you to think that it was cause to brag.” He said slowly. “I know how you feel about...us, as turtles. How impossible it is for us to...find  _ love _ .” He looked up at his brother, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s not as hard as you think.”

 

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Sorry for kinda...ruining the mood we had going, there.”

 

-

 

“It’s… hey, it's fine,” Raphael shakes his head slowly. He’s not denying that the mood was, in fact, ruined -- just the idea that Don should apologize for it. Their shared laughter had been a manic and fragile thing anyway, like glass spun too thin and doomed to shatter. 

 

“The truth is, I don't think that anymore,” he adds, glancing away and wishing he had something more interesting to study than blank silver walls. “Not for you guys. Pretty sure it's just true for me.”

 

He shrugs. “Anyway, I know you’d be the last to brag about it. Truth is, I'm  _ glad _ you got some. I hope all of ya’ do. Even that stick-in-the-mud…  _ somehow _ .” Raph ticks a half smile, but doesn't come close to regaining the jovial tone from earlier. 

 

\--

 

“Well, that’s just plain unrealistic. I mean, you’re the rugged, handsome one,” Don smiles. “In comparison, I hardly have anything going for me. I was convinced I’d be the 40-year old virgin! I’m just lucky that Jhanna happened to think my nerd talk was endearing rather than off-putting.” He paused. “But if you think you’re strange down there, let me tell you that you’ve got nothing on her.”

 

\--

 

Raphael’s face works as he thinks of several things to say and rejects them. “It’s… look, it’s not  _ about _ being handsome. I don't actually think that we're ugly. Except maybe Mike.” That is sort of a required joke at this point, even if his heart isn't in it. “It’s not even about having strange junk. Though it's a bit… I still kinda wonder how it's supposed to fit. Or if it IS all supposed to fit. Because it doesn't, with turtles, you know? Some of that length is just so he can get up and under the shell…”

 

Raph looks at Don suddenly to wonder, “But… with Jhanna…?” Then he makes a face and adds with a groan, twitching his fingers towards himself as if to say ‘bring it’ “And... yeah, okay, you can go ahead and tell me just how freaky her alien cooch was.”

 

\--

 

Don wedges himself comfortably against Raph’s side, pressing his feet up on the opposite wall. “You’re right, a lot of the length in normal turtles is purely to cover the distance between a mating pair, and the head’s the important part. But it, uh, isn’t such a bad thing anyway. It’s not like you’re under any obligation to fit the whole thing anywhere. Especially if you’re of different kinds, you just...do whatever feels good.” His eyes glazed over as he spent a few moments lost in memory. “It’d probably fit easily enough with another mutant turtle,” He acknowledged after a while, unthinking.

 

“So, uhm, yes. Omatran ladies are kind of...ambiguous,” Don laughed. “I wasn’t entirely sure she  _ was  _ a lady, after I managed to get into her pants!” He shook his head, smiling. “I guess it’s not too wild, I even think there are similar things in the Earth’s animal kingdom. She’d kill me if she knew I was ever discussing her bits,” He snorted. 

 

“Her, uhm, her clit...super big, for a clit. Like, like a small penis,” He grinned, holding up his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart for Raph to see. “Like I was going to let that stop me, though. Most difficult thing was trying to keep her quiet, she was yowling like a cat.” The blush returned in full force. “And she was so  _ determined  _ to make me fit. It was like the warmest, wettest vice. God.” He shivered, even though the temperature was a perfect 25 degrees Celsius. “Sorry. TMI. Man, I’m hungry,” Don complained, mostly as an opportunity for Raph to change the subject if he wanted an out.  

 

\--

 

“Hey, it ain’t TMI if I asked ya about it...” All this casual talk has helped Raphael to grow more comfortable with their weird situation. He doesn't jerk away at the contact this time, even leaning back into the other turtle. 

 

Raph glances up at the ceiling and sighs. “Though I guess it probably ain't the smartest topic when one of ya’s stuck with a perma-boner.” His gaze slides aside towards Donnie, unable to help ragging just a tiny bit as he says, “What should we talk about? Oh yeah, how about the  _ warmest, wettest vice… _ and also, my girlfriend’s super hot micro-penis!”

 

Seriously, how is he supposed to be thinking about food when THAT just came up?

 

\--

 

“Pft, you’re just jealous,” Don yawns, tucking his hands up behind his head. “You’re free to talk about anything else. Otherwise, I’ll take your silence as permission to recount my adventures in sweet alien love-making.” 

 

Raph’s abundant body heat was making him drowsy. Don tried to figure out how long they’d been awake, but the long stretch of darkness on the ship made it impossible to tell. His throat was very dry, and he was trying not to think about how much he needed to use a bathroom.

 

“Do you think it’s safe to sleep?” He asked quietly, when his head began to nod. “I didn’t think they’d keep us in here this long.”

 

\--

 

Of course Raph had been jealous. They _all_ had been, in their own way. He had just been quieter than the others, mostly content to keep it all to himself. He’s a lot less sure of himself than he lets on, when it comes to such things -- still mostly a confused kid about sex in a lot of ways.

 

He pointedly says nothing, sort of hoping Don  _ will _ go on about these wild, yowling micro-penis escapades. But Don never does, and Raph is too shy suddenly to keep on pursuing it. 

 

Instead he joins his brother in a stretch of contemplative silence, letting his mind wander. He worries about how Leo and Mikey are coping with their abduction, plots out a few more ways he might potentially end the two evil scientists, and a bunch of random thoughts in between those extremes.

 

_ That's one good thing about being stuck here with Donnie, _ he eventually realizes. Of all his brothers, Don has always been the best when it comes to comfortable silence. They can work side by side for hours without feeling the need to fill the quiet with ongoing, pointless chatter. Donnie understood better than any of them the need to occasionally wax introspective and delve into one’s own head.

 

“I know, right?” he agrees, picking up on the question like they never stopped talking. “How long does it take to set up a stupid habitat? I mean, they already got the air right. What else is there to do? Little sleeping cubby, couple of fake plants, a scummy green watering hole, bowl of turtle kibble…” He punctuates this gloomy picture of captivity with a sharp downward gesture, a pantomime of kibble distribution that is practically a mic drop. “Done!”

 

He shakes his head in disgust and sighs. “Go ahead and try ta’ get some rest, if you can. There's no way I'm gonna be able to do the same. I’m wide awake, thanks to that... well, whatever that stuff was they shot me up with. The mega boner drug. But hey, maybe it's for the best… I can watch yer back, and later on when this shit wears off you can return the favor.”

 

Raphael slides down onto the floor more than he had been before,  shifting his position in an effort to make himself more comfortable for Don to lean on. As hard and unyielding as his carapace and heavily muscled physique is, Raph figures he has still got to make a better pillow than the cold surfaces and right angles of this little metal room. 

 

Another good thing about this position is that Raphael has finally found a way to recline that should minimize embarrassment for both of them. He can sit with his legs pressed together and essentially sit on his tail -- along with everything else still going on down there. Now his strong and stocky thighs block it from sight, at least -- even if he still can’t block it completely from his mind. 

 

“Anyway, I think I prefer sleeping in shifts as a rule...” Raph adds in a much quieter tone, trying to be respectful of Donnie’s request for some shut-eye. But at the same time, he really needs to say this -- for his own sense of security as much as any other reason.  He reaches out to splay his palm over the shallow maze of sharp ridges and whorls that span the other turtle's carapace, which is in easy reach now that they’ve shifted to the floor. He needs another lapse into unannounced silence, just gathering his thoughts and his courage. When he finally manages to speak, the words come out choked and vulnerable, perhaps more so than anything Don has heard from this supposedly ‘macho turtle’ in years. He gets it out, just the same.

 

“No more bars between us... okay, Don? They ain’t gonna separate us again. I’ll -- I’ll go fucking berserk on anybody who tries to take you away from me.” His hand is still gliding in a slow and reassuring circle over the fingerprint-like pattern of ripples and ridges which are distinctly  _ Donnie _ . 

 

Even hours before this, when they were immersed in pitch black confusion and gravity was pinning them to the floor, if Raph had only thought to touch his brother's shell like this it would have solved the mystery immediately. With just a simple touch he could have read his brother's name, felt it etched there in his shell like braille -- yet another secret language that the four of them have always shared, imprinted at birth and reinforced all through their intimate and isolated childhood. True, he hasn’t ever confirmed it -- but Raphael chooses to believe that any of them could do the same for him. 

 

“So… well, uh… sorry in advance, I guess. If I start to drive you crazy. Bein’ too clingy and overprotective, like… maybe to kind of a psycho degree? Heh...” His face pinches in that way it often does with deep concern, causing familiar wrinkles to appear at the corners of his eyes and in-between them. The chuckle he attempted to tack on there comes out sounding forced, transparently so, obviously just nerves and his longtime habit of defensive posturing. 

 

The truth, of course, is there is nothing funny or light-hearted in what he is saying. He would love to be able to play it off like he is half joking -- like he is someone who actually deserves this rugged, macho, badass reputation that everyone else (even a super observant and perceptive genius like Donnie!) has apparently been duped into believing. But so much of it is fake, and that is especially true right now as he tries in vain to laugh as he delivers these words. It is a laugh that chokes and dies before he can even get the foul thing off his tongue, because the emotions that are threatening crack his chest open as he says this could not be any more intense or serious.

 

“Yer all I got left…” he goes on to admit in a near whisper that cracks right at the end. It is a far more genuine voice, even if it makes him turn and cringe at nearest wall to hear himself sounding so weak and young and pathetic. “I have been dragged a billion miles away from single thing I ever gave a  _ shit _ about, except for you! And if these zookeepers wanna take you  _ away _ from me…”

 

Raphael swallows hard and silence stretches for a beat or two, unable to go on as he is overcome with anxiety and quiet rage at the very real possibility of a forced separation. His hands have fallen still without realizing it, his fingers tightening to clutch possessively at Don’s shell. He looks down at his pale-knuckled, bloodless grip and a hot wash of shame runs over his face as he recalls that Donnie is exhausted. He’s trying to close his eyes, and here is Raph, running his mouth -- not even to say anything soothing or comforting, but just dragging out the worst of his fears. He is certain that Leonardo would  _ never _ vent like this -- not in the middle of a desperate situation, and never at their expense. Could he BE any more thoughtless or selfish?

 

Raphael forces his claw-fingered grip on Don’s shell to relax. He draws a long, slow breath into his lungs, holds it for several measured seconds, and blows it out with purpose. The gentle, circular caress of his palm resumes, sliding over Don’s carapace as it had been before he managed to upset himself. When he speaks, his volume is the same as before but everything else about his voice has changed. “Just… nah. No fucking way am I gonna let that happen. I’m not letting you outta my sight, okay?” He sounds stronger now, more mature -- but even though he summoned this attitude consciously, it is no less genuine. This protective big brother mode is a very real part of him too -- no less real than the cringe-worthy voice from earlier, of a lost and terrified kid who still fears bugs and abandonment and wants desperately to go home.

 

“Where you go, I go. That’s the deal, if they want my cooperation. But anybody tries to take you outta my sight and there is gonna be hell to pay.”

 

\--

 

Don listened silently as his brother poured all of his built-up worries from the last day into a few short sentences. He knew better than to interrupt; Raph was vulnerable in these moments, and liable to keep his feelings bottled inside forever if he thought he was being negatively judged. He allowed Raph to tug him down onto the floor, and he cushioned his head on Raph's arm as Raph whispered, almost to himself, how there would be hell to pay if they were ever separated in this place. 

 

The hand rubbing his shell was soothing, and Don was reminded of times when they were younger and shared the same bed under their Father’s protective watch. He used to have nightmares about people finding them and taking him away, and cutting open his belly just to look inside. Raph used to sleep draped on top of them all, like their blanket, or a shield. Always the protective big brother. Even then, he could chase away the nightmares, with the same soft touches to his shell. Of all his brothers…Don was grateful that Raph was with him now. He could banish fear like it was a corporeal enemy he could strike down with his fists. He always had Donnie’s back, in every fight, and made him feel like he was something worth protecting. 

 

Don shifted around slowly, curling himself along Raph's side. Raph's hand on his shell followed him, looping around his back and holding him close. Don breathed deeply; the earthy scent of his brothers was innately calming. He scratched at the nicks in Raph's upper plastron while he thought of a reply, his eyes already at half mast. 

 

“If anyone tries to separate us,” Don said softly, as sleep began to take hold, “they'll have to deal with me first.”

 

\--

 

“Hell yeah, you can take the first swing,” Raphael promises the sleepy turtle in his lap with a swell of affection. “I’ll set myself up to flank. We don't need weapons... we  _ are  _ weapons. Any stupid motherfucker who tries to come between you and me don't gotta prayer.”

 

Stepping firmly into the role of protector has always been a solid plan for him. Courage and calm are so much easier to summon when he needs them for a really good reason. Maybe it’s time to stomp down hard on some human trafficking or drug cartels are moving in to poison the projects. Sometimes -- way too often, actually, thanks to the crazy lives they lead -- it's even bigger than that. The whole city could be in danger, maniacs are running around planting bombs and waving chemical weapons, freaky death cults are summoning demons out of portals, new aliens dropping out of the sky a couple times a year to meddle and fuck shit up, whole planets on the brink of getting vaporized… hell, maybe the fabric of multiple universes is unraveling for some reason, reality itself is losing color and form, swirling and coming apart like toilet paper after a strong flush. Reasons like these make it easy to man up and be a hero. What needs to be done becomes obvious -- the right thing becomes the only thing. 

 

Leo is the type of guy who sees the long view by default. He’s always gotta have one eye fixed on the future, the shifting landscape of power and resources in the city, the broader repercussions of their actions, the enemies who might benefit, innocents who could suffer… He could compare the weight of two tragic outcomes and pick out the best one in the blink of an eye, understanding the values of the good being accomplished versus lives being lost. Raphael has never been good at any of that bigger picture bullshit, the sound of butterflies clapping in the woods and making ripples or whatever. Maybe it's a little easier to make himself think that way in Protective Brother mode, but it never comes naturally. He will always be better suited to fighting in the trenches, dealing with whatever suffering and evil happens to be immediately in front of him. 

 

Raph knows the hierarchy of his priorities should be as simple as Leo makes them out to be. Save reality first, then the universe, his galaxy, his continent, his country, the city of New York, the local boroughs of Manhattan, and so on… an ordered list based on logic and decreasing magnitude. But that’s never how it works out in his head in the heat of the moment when the shit starts to fly. There is no greater cause, no higher priority to Raph, than the protection of his immediate family. 

 

And right now Donnie is all the family he has left. 

 

There’s nothing to do, nothing new to observe... nowhere to go at all except deep inside, where his brain is still grinding and churning like a tireless factory in its efforts to make sense of his up-ended world.

 

Raphael suspects that any decent leader would be thinking Leo-like thoughts right now, plotting out the pros and cons of attempting to liberate the zoo’s other prisoners, or calculating the general level of threat these Cruax invaders pose to other civilized races living in this part of the galaxy. Should he be trying to prepare the groundwork for some kind of massive internal revolution, or is it wiser to seek outside aid and put Donnie to the task of figuring out how they could access one of their captors’ computer systems? From there it might be possible to transmit some kind of distress signal and blow the whistle on these kidnapping, tail-violating zookeepers and their scary cockroach overlords.

 

It would probably be worthwhile to revisit these possibilities later when Don is awake… but right now Raph can't find it within himself to give a single shit about any of it. He looks down at his peacefully sleeping brother and decides,  _ First priority, I'm gonna keep you with me and keep you safe. Second, we’re gonna find a way back home. That’s where my focus has got to be. Nothing else here really matters. This whole planet can burn for all I care. _

 

_ I do still want vengeance on those two creeps if I can get it, but -- it's not the same. It’s personal. _ All at once, the many methods of death he visualized for them in his murderous imagination strikes him as petty and ridiculous compared to the massive, world-ending importance of accomplishing those first two things. If he fails at either one -- if Donatello should die after all -- or if they come to realize that escape isn't possible and they will never see home again - if Master Splinter and Leo and Mike and April and Casey are all gone now, and Raph must accept that he will never know what became of them, will never see them at all except as fading figures in his memories of a life now lost forever… 

 

_ No.  _ **_No_ ** _. All of that is unacceptable. _

 

He has two mission-critical goals, then. To fail at either would be ‘Game Over’, because Raph doubts he would want to go on living.

 

His perma-boner actually calmed down and retracted a little while ago. Raph still hasn't noticed. There are tears rolling freely down his face but it's a very stealthy cry, silent and unshaking. He doesn't need or want anyone’s comfort or attention to get through this melancholy spell. It's just the spilling of excess emotions, ugly stuff inside that needs to come out, and it's not even uncommon that something like this should happen -- in fact, the only weird thing about this is that he isn't completely alone. Raph is actually sheepishly grateful that Don is not conscious for any of this, and his whole body goes still as the grave in a conscious effort not to rouse him.

 

Raphael recovers his composure in time. Perhaps there is some evidence hanging around his eyes, which are a bit more puffy and bloodshot than they were before. But his face is dry and his voice is steady when he does choose to speak up and rouse the sleeping turtle. “Look lively, Donnie... One of the walls just started rumbling. I think they're about to let us out.”


	7. Just acting like we're animals

“Mmrh?” 

 

Don was comfortable and warm, and protested his abrupt awakening with some quiet whines. He didn’t know how his other brothers, especially Leo, were able to wake up so quickly- well, he supposed it was because Leo was never really asleep. One eye open, and all that.

 

It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why he was lying naked in a metal cube with Raph and sore all over.  _ Ah, yes. Alien abduction. _ It took him another moment to register what Raph had said, and what it meant. When he also heard the sound of complaining metal, he sat up quickly, reaching over his shoulder automatically to grasp his bo, shocked when his fingers only found thin air instead. 

 

He rolled into a defensive crouch, resisting the urge to pull out his concealed knife in case it wasn’t necessary and was taken from him in a wasted opportunity. The wall opposite the one they had entered from was slowly swinging open on invisible hinges, creaking loudly like it hadn’t been used in months. Don shielded his eyes against the expanding ray of light that crept into their cube from outside, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the light as if it were a giant mirror. 

 

“Raph, stay close,” Don said nervously, reaching for his brother’s belt- and then the lip of his carapace, when he remembered they’d both been stripped of their clothing. He’d suddenly had the thought that it wasn’t impossible that they’d be sharing their habitat with others. 

 

The door was now wide open, and they stood blinking dumbly in a close approximation of early morning light, which suffused the top of the dome, and filtered down into their ‘cage’.

 

As far as cages went, it was quite well-equipped. Don was finding it difficult not to believe that the aliens had somehow transported a chunk of north America directly into the space before him.  _ This definitely does not fill the dome...meaning ours can’t be the only habitat.  _ Indeed, if he squinted, the thick, semi-opaque plexiglass walls revealed other dimly-lit shapes on both sides of their wedge-shaped habitat. The land sloped downwards from the metal entry room, and tapered into a point at the dome’s center, where he could hear running water.  _ Entry and exit points for water mean possible escape routes for us,  _ He mentally noted. There was a rock face to their right, which hid the rest of their habitat from view. There were no other noises, meaning no bugs, or birds. White oak leaves flittered over the ground into the box where they still stood, and Don reached down to inspect one of them. It looked like a perfect leaf. No defects, and still a bright green; it shouldn’t have fallen off the tree. He experimentally crushed it in his palm. The leaf looked much the same when he opened his fingers, except for a few creases. He picked up another leaf and compared the two, finding them exactly identical.  _ Interesting. _

 

Given the presence of trees, Don tentatively removed his breathing mask, and took a quick breath, holding it to let it circulate in his lungs. The air was clean. He dropped the breather on the ground to pull apart later, along with the leaves. 

 

“Want me to recon?” He asked Raph, bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous energy while he waited for instructions.  

 

\--

 

Raphael never did put his own breathing apparatus back on properly as Don had asked, instead leaving it looped around his neck. The air in the metal box was obviously breathable, and if he was challenged -- hey, he’s  _ technically  _ wearing it, okay? Anyway, it's annoying to talk around and doesn't fit his snout right. But at the same time, it would never occur to him to just toss it onto the ground.

 

Raph looks a bit concerned when Donnie discards his so casually, opening his mouth but then closing it again, deciding not to say anything. Hopefully it will still be there when they are done looking around. If it’s not, for whatever reason, then he’ll probably be upset. They will need these things to navigate the rest of the ship when they make their escape, after all. But he doesn't want to come off as bossy and micro-managing, especially realizing that he’s probably just being paranoid.  _ Nobody’s gonna be itching to clean up this place when we only just got here.  _

 

He didn't really get what Don was doing with the leaves. Raph had watched over one shoulder, trying to figure out why it was supposed to be interesting, but it just looked like a leaf to him. So did the second one. He pokes at one with his toe, making sure it's not made of plastic, but it seems to pass the test. Comparing the vein structure of the two leaves never occurs to him.

 

The suggestion about recon seems to startle him. “You mean, split up to look around?” He frowns and looks torn for a moment, again wondering if he's worrying too much. But this time he sides with paranoia, stepping closer to Don and deciding more firmly, “Nah, let’s check it out together. Anyway, I want to hear what you're thinking. You’ll probably notice a whole lot more useful stuff than I will.”

 

Raphael starts moving, his steps hesitant at first to make sure Don is falling into step beside him and then relaxing and letting his gaze roam their surroundings. “There is one thing that keeps throwing me off about this place: the  _ smell _ is all wrong. It’s like… whenever I step outside the farmhouse in Northampton,  all that grass and earth and fresh air hits me right in the face, you know? It’s so different from home, I always notice it. But there's none of that here. The air’s still all stale and recycled, just like it was before they let us in here.”

 

\--

 

“You’re right. Everything about this is...off,” Don said slowly, picking his way carefully across a small rocky outcrop, studying the ground intently. He felt tense, like he was walking around in a trap; his body poised for an attack at any moment. He knew the prickling feeling at the nape of his neck wasn’t going to go away; they were being watched, even now. Don cast his eyes skyward, blinking up at the artificial ‘sun’. 

 

“I’m going to assume they give us as much daylight as we’d have on Earth, meaning we have some time to find or make some kind of shelter before ‘nightfall’,” He told Raph, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the land from atop the small hill. “The advantage of making our own shelter if possible is that it wouldn’t be filled with monitoring equipment. Unless they can create that sort of thing as easily as the rest of the environment,” He thought aloud, his frown deepening. “If you see  _ anything _ out of place, or any kind of tech, let me know.” 

 

The silence of their little plot of land was getting to him. It was unnatural. Even the light breeze carried no sound, only faintly stirring the leaves in their vicinity.

 

“How are you, by the way?” Don asked, swinging his head around to look at Raph, nodding at Raph’s general tail region. “I hope you didn’t...er,  _ sort yourself out _ while I was asleep on you.” 

 

“Yeah, Don,” Raph quips, his gaze sliding over wryly. “Blew it all over your face. Which reminds me, you got a little something…” He wiggles his finger in vague gesture which could be anywhere -- the whole side of his face, possibly. 

 

Donatello grinned and rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to wipe his face. “Hang on a minute, I need to, uh-” He scanned the terrain again. “Use the bathroom, which I now designate to be that big rock shaped like Shredder’s helmet over there, for me. You can find your own stump or something to hide behind. Just...let me know which one.”

 

Don stumbled down the hill, feeling like a meerkat with the way he kept standing up on his toes and peering around at the scenery. Even this short distance he was putting between himself and his brother was making him nervous. He reached the rock and stepped behind it, ensuring Raph couldn’t see him, when he had the chilling thought that the Omatran was probably watching him  _ very closely _ .  

 

Suddenly his need to pee wasn’t so great. “Talk about stage fright,” He mumbled, squatting down on the ground and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to relax.  _ This is worse than Big Brother.  _

 

_ They also think I’m female, and I need to keep up that appearance,  _ he thought as he scrutinised every rock around him for some sign of being a hidden camera.  _ Which means I can’t drop down for anything as long as we know we’re being watched.  _ And if it were any other time of the year, keeping himself hidden for an extended period of time wouldn’t be a huge problem, but Spring had a habit of coming early for Donnie. He sighed, mentally resigning himself to a couple of months of acute sexual frustration without relief.  _ Well, with luck, we won’t be here that long. _

 

It hadn't been all that hard lately to ignore the slow building tension that pre-empted his ‘time of the year.’ They'd all been so thoroughly occupied with pinning down Bishop’s alien activities that the only time he noticed his needs were in the sleepy few minutes after his alarm went off and before Leo knocked on his door for practice, and when his mind wandered in the shower. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy the release, but the fact that he felt these debilitating primal urges at all was beyond frustrating. In its peak, it interfered with all his work, and played havoc on their fighting styles. He couldn't help but gravitate more towards his shorter brother, whose machismo and aggression were suddenly endearing to Donnie, not to mention his overpowering  _ scent _ . 

 

Normal smells he usually found attractive like April’s perfume suddenly became unbearable in the wake of their own pheromones, which was  _ completely confusing _ . 

 

It didn’t help that whatever stuff the aliens had pumped into Raph was making him produce that same scent, which Don had realised with dread.  _ As if this situation wasn’t disconcerting enough already, now they’re forcing me to face my own messed-up inclinations.  _ He had no idea if any of his other brothers were affected by him in the same way that he felt a need for them, during the season. One brother in particular, who he had to be stuck with while said brother smelled like God’s gift to turtlekind. He wondered what the effects of the serum would be if Raph was already naturally in season, and if the aliens had any plans to use it on him too. He was glad they didn’t think to do so earlier in the examination, or else it would have been completely impossible to hide his sex.  _ Retractable penises for the win. _

 

Don crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his face against them, and tried to think of anything other than Raph. He awkwardly relieved himself, glaring at everything like it was Medic’s face.  _ Need to make some kind of outhouse, and dig a pit. This is so uncivilised. _

 

There was nothing he could do about his wet tail, so he curled it up, wincing at the feeling. He plodded back to the hill, muttering mild curses as he went. It helped. 

 

Don stumbled slightly, not watching where he was going, and hissed as pain flared in his foot.  _ Not good.  _ He sat down hard on a nearby rock and picked up his foot gingerly, his curses turned on himself now. “You are  _ such _ an idiot sometimes,” He said angrily, trying to brush dirt out of the small wound which oozed blood. “You don’t have any first aid equipment, and you have to go and hurt yourself, and maybe the aliens won’t let anything like infection set in but that would mean another trip back to that god-awful medical room, and...”

 

His tirade died down when he realised that the rock he was sitting on was one of a few lining the entrance to a cavity in the rock ledge. He peered at it, suddenly nervous, his instincts telling him something could already live inside the dark little cave. “Raph!” He yelled, hopping on his uninjured foot to the other side of his rock, wishing he’d had the foresight to pick up any long stick as a makeshift bo. “Raph, come look!”

 

\--

 

Raphael had not been waiting very patiently. It surprises him, how much he  _ hates  _ being separated even for this brief time. He doesn’t make it obvious -- doesn’t even fully realize it until Donatello is completely out of sight. But not being able to see his brother at all ratchets up his unease considerably.  _ He’s allowed to go to the bathroom,  _ he scolds himself.  _ Stop being a psycho.  _ Even so he winds up pacing, no longer focused on exploration so much as listening to his brother’s footfalls as they recede. Already he is dreading the awful, unbroken quiet that will follow once he can no longer hear them.  _ These losers...  _ Raphael observes critically.  _ They couldn’t even figure out the sound that their fake-ass leaves oughta make when they get stepped on. _

 

“Your Earth sucks!” he impulsively declares out loud, just in case anyone is currently listening in on them. “Two thumbs down. Where the hell are the bird noises? Why is the sky red over there? Seriously, worst Earth ever.” He kicks at a rock, trying to see if there is anything annoying and un-rocklike about it. He watches it bounce along and roll to a stop, and finally tilts a small shrug. “The rocks are fine, I guess. But, still! I pretty much hate this place.”

 

Nobody answers. They probably don’t want him to know they are watching. If there really are cameras in here, they’ve been hidden pretty well. But there have got to be cameras.  _ Something _ is causing his skin to creep with this nagging awareness of being watched. He looks up suddenly, then cranes his neck this way and that, wondering if there is actually some cloaked viewing area up in the sky. Maybe scientists are watching him through one-way walls up there, watching his brother piss, scritching all kinds of notes about his technique and paying attention to what he pees on. 

 

It’s kind of a funny thought -- and at the same time, it pisses him off all over again. Donnie has always been fussy and rather private about things like bodily functions, hygiene rituals, even health problems. He’s the polar opposite of Mikey, who not only does not mind peeing in front of other people but might even continue whatever conversation he was just having with you by shouting through the wide open door. The thought of people ogling Donnie against his wishes while he’s engaged in something he’s too shy to do even in Raph’s presence… he growls and kicks another rock. 

 

Suffice to say, he does not get much exploring done or make any keen observations while his brother is gone. And when Don shouts for him, oh -- he races like the wind to get there, bursting into the clearing like he is ready to rip off the limbs of whatever has -- oh. Don’s fine? Raph’s speed cuts out suddenly, and he forces a more casual and easy-going gait in an effort to downplay his over-reaction.  _ Oh yeah, you’re real smooth _ , he chides himself. 

 

Raphael looks Don over again once they are facing one another and amends his initial assessment. “Wait, what’s wrong with your foot? Is everything cool?”

 

\--

  
  


Don was only faintly surprised when a green blur vaulted over the ridge into the clearing, almost before he’d finished calling Raph’s name. He’d wondered when his brother’s patience would run out and he’d come to find him anyway, peeing or no. 

 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” He said in exasperation, grabbing Raph’s shoulders and bodily turning him towards the cave. “ _ Look.” _

 

_ \-- _

 

“You’re NOT fine, there’s definitely something wrong with your foot,” Raph points out stubbornly, even as he is being hauled in a different direction. “What am I supposed to be--”

 

\--

 

_ I guess someone has to be the mother hen when Leo’s not around,  _ Don thought fondly as he shoved his big brother firmly into the dark crevice. “Thanks Raph. Let me know if you find anything cool, I’m gonna play lookout.” 

 

_ Raph’s much better in close combat, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to stumble around in the dark with an injured foot, _ Don reasoned as he sat down on his rock again. 

 

\--

 

Donnie is so authoritative about getting him moving towards this cave that at first Raphael can only stumble a step or two in the indicated direction. His protests come out as an unhappy splutter as he tries again to shift gears and do what was asked of him. He plants his feet in the mouth of the cave and peers, squinting hard, like his gaze could penetrate its depths -- which it can’t, of course. It’s all so much rock face and gloom from here. 

 

Raph glances back at Don and this time something steels inside him. It could happen  _ just  _ like this. He might step away for just a second, and something beyond his control happens -- aliens might materialize from portals, just waiting for the moment he is out of arm’s reach. He can’t say all that to Don, though -- it sounds pretty crazy. Which means he must BE a little crazy. Which is... not great. But hey, at least he did give Don fair warning about it. 

 

He gives a sharp sigh and abruptly turns, stomping back over to Don and looming over him. “Why are we splitting up again? What part of ‘we stick together’ is so hard to comprehend? Like… I want your observations as we’re checking stuff out. I pretty much suck at checking things out. And also -- I just don’t like leaving you. I don’t even like you being out of arm's reach after what those aliens did to us. Sooo…” Raph draws the word out and his upward-turned palm circles, a gesture asking for more. “What’s going on? You all tuckered out from peeing? This foot’s feeling so fine that you don’t wanna walk on it no more?” 

 

\--

 

Don grimaced. His excuse felt so small now in the weight of Raph’s worry, and he was loathe to say that his foot was the problem, especially after he’d just declared that he was fine. 

 

“No, you’re right,” He mumbled, standing up and joining his brother at the cave’s mouth, doing his best not to show any outward signs of pain. It was only a dull ache now, anyway, but Don was wary of all the sharp rocks that he could see littering the ground; it was one of these that he’d cut himself on in the first place. The ground around the cave entrance was quite flat, so if they cleared it out, it would make a suitable shelter in a defensive position. 

 

He cast around for any other excuse he could give Raph to explain what probably looked like cowardice. “I don’t...have my glasses,” He said lamely, which wasn’t really an issue, as he only ever used his lenses when he was working with small components at his desk. He knew that Raph knew this, and was grateful when his brother let it slide. 

 

“Alright, can we just...go slow, then?” He asked, gripping the lip of Raph’s shell again. “I want to be able to see where I’m walking, if possible.” He didn’t expect the cave to be all that large anyway, given that they were already near the hill’s apex.

 

They ventured into the dark. Don kept his eyes trained on Raph’s feet, carefully placing his own in the same prints. The air was humid, but not unbearably so. They slowly rounded a corner, which cut off the remaining light, making Don more nervous than he had any right to be, as a ninja.  _ Darkness is my friend _ , he thought firmly, repeating it in his head like a mantra, like he’d done on every stealth mission and solo walk through the sewers without his tech.  _ Being afraid is illogical. Darkness is my friend. _

 

He had no idea how tall the ceiling was, and was tired of crouching in the fear of hitting his head, so he stopped and reached out tentatively. His questing fingertips found one of the walls, but even if he stretched out as far as he could in the opposite direction, he couldn’t touch the other side.  _ This place is bigger than I thought.  _

 

Don gave up on his personal exploration and swung his arms back to grab at Raph’s shell again, but met nothing. Panic rose up like a wave, and he tried to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “Raph? Raph!”

 

He stumbled forward, crashing into his brother who had only just been out of arm’s reach. Embarrassment flooded him. “Oh. There you are.” Don wondered why his glowing cheeks weren’t lighting up the cave. 

 

\--

 

“Hey! Hey, I gotchya,” Raphael quickly soothes, gently gripping his brother's flailing arms to still them and then giving them a reassuring squeeze. There will be no incoming teasing from him over that brief display of separation anxiety. He would be the biggest hypocrite in the world if he tried to laugh about it. 

 

“We’ll go slow. It’s cool,” he promises, steady and undaunted. “And look, I don't think there is anything in this cave that's gonna jump out and eat us. First, we’d probably hear it pretty quick if something were moving around in here -- and I don't hear a thing except that fake wind they got blowing outside the cave. Second, this is a  _ Zoo _ , right? It ain't the Triceraton Arena. Nobody goes to zoos to watch the animals eat each other…”

 

_ Then again, this zoo is controlled by a bunch of bug monsters.  _ Who can really say what reasons the Cruax have for locking them up in here -- or  _ any  _ sentient creature, for that matter? Still, Raph suspects they are not meant to engage in any epic cave battles on their first day of captivity.

 

“Nah, I'm more thinking this is probably supposed to be OUR cave. The cubby hole we crawl into when we're sick of being stared at like freaks.” So far, he doesn't actually mind this place as a potential temporary home. Sure, it's musty and the floor is littered with sharp rocks...but at least they seem like  _ good _ rocks. 

 

The smell isn't even too weird in here. He can smell stone and earth and sense the weight of a heavy ceiling hanging over their heads and out of reach. As they traverse deeper, Raph’s sense of security only grows. It is dark and cool and they could almost close his eyes and pretend there is a network of pipes and solid concrete above them...

 

“But if that's true, then there's got to be cameras in here somewhere… huh. I wonder if it would be safe to try and start a fire in here? And, like, with  _ what _ ? Leo always had that kit with the rocks that make sparks. Never was much for that Boy Scout stuff… dunno how to do the whole rub-sticks-together-like-Indians thing.” 

 

It would be a lot more cozy in here with a fire -- especially if the nights get cooler here, as they normally would. Plus it would be a lot easier to spot hidden cameras if they could actually  _ see.  _ But the main reason he asks this is because Donnie still seems so tense. His genius brother is always seems calmer and more sure of himself if he has a real problem to wrestle with instead of -- whatever else goes on up there during bad situations. 

 

“And it would be nice to have the option of cooking any meat… . Aww, crud. Will there even BE meat? _ ”  _ This is concerning. Raphael is quite the carnivore compared to his brothers. “Even if there is, it will probably be…  _ odd _ meat. Ugh!” His snout wrinkles up at the thought. 

 

\--

 

“ _ Our _ cave,” Don repeated slowly. It made sense. “You’re right, we’re probably being monitored, even in here. Er,  _ especially  _ in here, given what...what they want us to do. Once we get something like a fire going, we need to figure out exactly how they are watching us.” 

 

He was suddenly reminded of his first (and only) pet, a rat he’d called King. Each week when he cleaned out the enclosure he’d made for the rat, he would move all the contents around and add new things, to make it interesting. He used to love watching the rat when he released it back into the cage, seeing it discover its habitat all over again, and all of its contents. Were they being watched now, with the same fascination? The thought made him feel physically ill. His rat had eventually escaped, and they would too, if he could just keep his head.

 

Don tried to remember all the survival guides he digested when he was younger. He’d always wanted to go camping, but he assumed he’d have at least  _ some  _ essentials on hand. “It’s strange to say, but I don’t know if we can assume anything about the materials here,” He said thoughtfully, running one hand along the wall again. “I know they look like ordinary rocks and sticks, but until I know how the place was made, I’m not sure if they’re going to have the same physical properties. We could be rubbing sticks together for hours. I guess we need to try, though.”

 

He kept his other hand firmly in Raph’s, hoping his brother wouldn’t read much into it. His stomach growled painfully at the mention of meat. “I could really go for a pizza,” Don said wistfully. “Can we go and look for some food?” Sitting in total darkness again was playing tricks on his mind, and he was hesitant to explore any more of the cave without light. But Raph was calling the shots and he respected that, so he tried to keep the hopeful note out of his voice.

 

\--

 

Raphael glances over at Donnie, mildly surprised that he should want to give up the exploration of their cave before they’ve even seen how deep it goes. His eyes are only now starting to adjust to the near darkness. He doesn't think it goes too much farther in, but -- Raphael squints, trying to make out one patch of darkness from another. He might be seeing the back wall, but what if it's just another sharp turn? 

 

He’s not going to find out right now, however. It’s not as important as taking care of Don. Raph hitches his broad shoulders in a shrug that probably no one can see and finds a more comfortable grip on Don’s hand before giving it a tug and starting back out the way they’d come. “Yeah, let's go see what we can find. Did you even get breakfast this morning? I don't remember seeing ya eat… but I might’a just been too busy grouching at Mike for the evil things he added to the only box of cereal in the house. He said he made it ‘way better’... guh. I was stuck with black coffee and a couple slices of…”

  
He trails off abruptly. A beat or two of heavy silence follows. “Oh yeah,” he finally says, with a little huff of chagrin. “I guess that wasn't… yeah. We should probably eat.”


	8. Turtle Kibble

Don stood beside the metal door of the airlock they’d entered the habitat through, watching Raph examine every square inch of a wooden box in the center of the floor that hadn’t been there when they’d left. Don thought his brother looked a bit like a pitbull with the way he was sniffing at the box, and he bit his lip to contain a smile.  

 

“I had a hunch,” Don said, shrugging. “It’s not really feasible to let us hunt live game in here, and they have to feed us somehow. The airlock seemed like the best bet. Drag that thing out here and we’ll shut the door again, I want to keep the box.” 

 

He was thankful that the aliens hadn’t taken the masks he’d left on the ground; perhaps the Mungluks had delivered the goods, and weren’t given any orders to go inside the habitat itself. 

 

Raph lifted the box outside, but that didn’t give Don any indication of how heavy the thing was- his brother could benchpress  _ him  _ without raising a sweat. They stared at it silently.

 

It  _ seemed  _ innocuous enough.

 

Don put a palm flat on the top of the box, feeling for heat. It had a simple slide-out panel at the top. “If it’s anything other than April’s chocolate chip cookies, I’m going to be very disappointed,” Don said, and held his breath as he opened the lid.

 

\--

 

Raphael is scared to look. It’s going to be awful, he just knows it. He thinks about the horrible stuff they were calling food at that alien bar on the planet D’Hoonib and gives a small shudder, expecting tentacles to shoot out and weird flowers to burst open in a spray of pollen or maybe some kind of weird colored goo. But he’s being brave, because you got to eat to survive! 

 

He leans in, holding his breath. It looks… normalish? 

 

“Looks like food,” he decides from over Don’s shoulder, still eying the mess in there warily. He isn’t actually able to  _ identify _ any of said food, but that’s not too surprising. He isn’t able to identify half of the crap that Mikey sets down in front of them either when that guy decides to cook. He purses his mouth together into a grim line, because it’s ALIEN food, even if it doesn’t squelch and glurp and try to reach out of the box at him. It could almost be  _ exotic _ food, like the kind of stuff that April pulls out of bags labeled ‘WHOLE FOODS’. There is a fruit that looks kind of spikey. A pile of whole grain rice or something that actually looks promising. A lump of mushy stuff, tiny portions. A sort of salad, but no packet of dressing or any bacon chunks or anything so it’s pretty worthless to him. 

 

Raph stabs a finger at something that is definitely not a lima bean and wonders, “Is that a lima bean?” He looks over at Don hopefully. 

 

\--

 

“I think you should try it and find out,” Don smiles, gesturing for Raph to join him on the ground next to the box. “Let’s make a feast out of this. We should eat separate things, to minimise the chance of us both getting sick if something ends up being toxic. Let’s take everything out of the box, and put things we like back in it, and make a pile over there for things we’d rather never eat again.” 

 

He handed what looked like an orange leek to Raph, and raised one brow. “Try to remember that it isn’t likely any of this will taste like Antonio’s. It just has to stay down.” He dug through the box, delighted at the range of foods. This was actually Donatello’s idea of fun. He’d always been an adventurous eater, it was like another form of scientific exploration.  _ You never know what you might like until you try it. _ He plucked a small drawstring bag of berries from the box, enticed by their dark purple colour. “Maybe we should come up with our own names for these things,” He mused as he popped a couple into his mouth, chewing slowly to savour their taste. They were more bitter than he expected given their blueberry-like appearance, but definitely enjoyable. “Ah, I don’t think you’ll like these ones Raph,” He grinned, putting them back in the box. “What a shame.” His hand knocked against something solid sitting on the bottom, and with surprise he lifted out a waterproof bag of tools. 

 

“This is  _ amazing _ !” He exclaimed, all thoughts of food momentarily driven from his mind as he rummaged through the small bag. “They’ve given us- I don’t know exactly- but look!” He held up a small metal object that he suspected was a fire starter, knowing he had a really stupid grin plastered on his face. “Oh Raph, we’ve skipped right past the stone age into the iron age. Aren’t we clever!” He clutched the bag to his chest, hoping Raph wouldn’t snatch his new precious tools away. 

 

\--

 

_ Yeah _ , Raph thinks,  _ it was definitely the right call getting him out of that cave and looking for some grub. Would you look at this guy? This gift box from the Alien Whole Foods shows up and it’s like Christmas suddenly.  _ He just spends some time watching Don, with his face half scrunched and half grinning. 

 

Eventually he huffs and shakes his head, dropping his eyes to the floppy orange onion that Donatello graciously gave him to eat. Crud, he doesn’t want anything to do with this thing. He peers at it, trying to figure out better reasons to hate the idea of eating it other than the fact that it’s obviously a  _ vegetable  _ and it damn well shouldn’t be orange. Don’s not going to accept either of those reasons. He’s going to say the color doesn’t matter, which -- okay, it shouldn’t, but for some reason it does. And the veggie thing, well -- before, he could hide behind how religiously he takes vitamins, along with what wicked shape he happens to be in. But vitamins are no longer an option. It sucks. Everything about being here sucks.

 

Except for the way his brothers spirits are just  _ through the roof. _

 

And okay, the tool is a huge stroke of luck. But Raphael is wary of dual motives already. His pessimistic inner bull dog is already sniffing out the possibility of scientists running experiments on the zoo residents. _Maybe we’re just lab rats in here._ _The care package, the tool, the spooky metal room -- God, it’s like I’ve been plunked onto the set of one of them survival reality TV shows, or maybe this is the Alien Hunger Games._

 

But Raphael stoically decides not to say any of that to Donnie. He won’t erase that silly beaming smile off his brother’s face as he is complimenting their cleverness. It’s too adorable. Too…  _ heartening.  _

 

“Why do I gotta be the one to eat this shitty onion though? Listen, tell ya’ what. I’ll eat it.”  He shakes the leek at Don warningly as he goes on to lay down the law, a sharp gesture which makes it flop around, strikingly orange against his battered green knuckles.  “But I get to pick the next thing I eat for myself. And I’m picking that rice right there, so don’t you take it.”

 

\--

 

Don didn’t mention that the only reason he’d handed the strange vegetable to Raph was because his brother made the most endearing scrunched-up faces when he didn’t want to eat something. But honor and logic dictated that he  _ must  _ eat the weird food, which made it all the better- he could watch Raph’s inner struggle plainly on his face.  _ Dinner  _ **_and_ ** _ a show _ , Don thought happily, taking the spiky fruit that reminded him of a lychee. 

 

“Rice’s all yours,” Don smiled, digging his fingernails into the fruit’s tough skin and tugging experimentally. “Not sure if you need to cook it. Maybe we should experiment a bit once we get a fire and some hot water. We should probably think about rationing all this too, in case it’s meant to last a while,” He said absently, too engrossed in the fruit. He bit into soft pale flesh and almost moaned. Flavour burst against his tongue like sherbet, fizzy and sweet. _Oh, that is_ **_good_** _._

 

“You  _ need  _ to try this,” He sighed, ignoring everything he’d just said about possible toxicity, holding the fruit up to Raph’s mouth. It was too delicious not to share. “Quickly, or I’ll finish it off myself.”  

 

\--

 

Raphael’s face scrunches with extreme uncertainty as he glances between the chunk of too-pink, dripping flesh Don is offering and the weird spiky skin it came from. He personally would not be able to tell a lychee from a mangosteen, and thus has no earthly reference for this particular fruit. It’s just more alien weirdness for him to swallow… literally this time.

 

But in spite of his suspicions, Raphael takes the fruit and quickly pops it into his mouth. He knows he needs to eat something, after all -- and Donnie looks so damned eager to share it. 

 

The sweet flavor… well, it isn't bad, though he is reluctant to admit it for some reason. The main fact, which he can't seem to get over, is that  _ fruit shouldn't be fizzy.  _

 

All he winds up saying in response is to eventually grunt, “Huh. Soda fruit.”

 

The ugly orange onion is next. He bites into it and quickly spits it onto the ground. “I don't even know what that tastes like,” he declares sourly, licking his tongue over his teeth to more quickly be rid of the foreign flavor it left behind. “It tastes like  _ nope.” _

 

It bothers him a little that Don thought the rice might need to be cooked. It sure looked cooked to him. Raph takes few grains and rolls them between two blunt fingertips, noting that the rice  _ feels _ cooked. But does it even make sense, that it would be? He gives up trying to make sense of alien zookeepers and pops them into his mouth. 

 

Raph is fine until he bites into one and it sort of explodes in his mouth. “Jesus fucking…ugh!” He spits out what remains with even more vehemence than he had the evil onion. Sounding traumatized by the whole experience, the turtle urgently explains, “It’s some kind of  _ egg!  _ Like those bright orange ones they put in sushi? Bet you it's a  _ bug egg,  _ too. Gkkhh... so nasty...”

 

\--

 

Don frowned; Raph wasn’t appreciating the fruit enough for his liking. “More for me, then,” He supposed, licking his fingers where the juices had run down. He picked up the peel and scratched into it with a fingernail, leaving a bruised impression on the skin. _ ‘More of this one please.’ _ Don hoped they could translate the words easily enough.

 

He watched Raph eat with amusement, wishing he had his shellcell to record the looks on Raph’s face. Don narrowly avoided the half-chewed rice/egg projectile spat in his direction, and doubled over with laughter. “It’s probably full of protein!” He grinned, reaching into the bag to hold more out to Raph. “Think of it like your shakes in the morning. Remember when you used to drink raw chicken egg yolks? This can’t be worse than that.” He popped one into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. It wasn’t  _ bad _ . And if he could eat them, then Raph would make an effort to as well; his sense of pride compelled him to do anything his younger brother could. 

 

His hunger sated for the moment, he plucked up the device from the tool bag once more, turning it over in his hands curiously. 

 

The object was small and metallic, marked with no language that he could discern, but instead had grooves in the sides that crossed over each other in circular patterns. He ran his fingers over them, unable to shake the feeling that it was a test.  _ The apes from Earth given a toy to prove their intelligence.  _ And if he was honest with himself, this was the kind of thing he lived for. An alien tool for him to figure out, with no points of reference or help of any kind. _ A challenge. _

 

“Give me a time limit,” He mumbled to Raph, a familiar phrase that automatically sparked a sense of urgency. Don worked best under pressure, and his brothers didn’t have much of an issue goading him on even when there was no actual threat.

 

\--

 

“Okay. You got one minute before we freeze to death.  Now, make a fire!” So far, Raphael likes this game. If Don is focused on playing with alien tech, it means he won't be pressured to eat any more bug eggs -- at least, not right away. Those things are  _ nothing _ like chicken eggs, Raph is sure of it. But he knows better than to go toe-to-toe with Donnie over a matter of biology. 

“Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…” he mumbles aloud at one point, just to let Don know he is still counting in his head. 

 

Meanwhile, Raphael pokes through the remaining contents of the box. “Huh…  protein? Definitely oughta be cooked, though.” He has picked up a strip of what could be the flesh of a fish. It is slimy and pale, greyish in color and slightly translucent. But after all, his first hasty guess about the bug eggs proved to be completely wrong. He’s not even a huge  _ fan _ of fish, especially if the smell is strong, but this particular filet (or whatever it is) doesn't strike him as immediately offensive. 

 

He studies it, then glances over to check on his brother’s progress. “Course, thinking about cooking shit is kind of a moot point if we're about to freeze to death,” he teases. 

 

\--

 

“I probably wouldn’t be able to work this fast if I was freezing,” Don frowned, his fingers skimming over the sides of the device.  _ I’ll pretend I had an adrenaline shot or something.  _ It was important to him that the make-believe scenarios were as realistic as possible, or else they really didn’t carry any weight and introduce additional pressure. 

 

The circular grooves were in a deliberate pattern, spaced apart in increasingly larger intervals with a few connecting lines. As far as he could tell, there were two ‘main’ groups of circles with smaller sidelobes branching off. It wasn’t likely that all of these were purely decorational, and if there were no other tools in the bag, and no obvious hinges or opening mechanisms, the grooves had to be important to its function. 

 

It was possible, his brain reminded him helpfully, that the device wasn’t actually a device, just a pretty object for him to fuss over. Something he’d take back to their cave and pick up every now and then...which would make it a perfect way to monitor them. So maybe it  _ was _ a device, just for a different purpose than he’d originally thought. If it was, he’d still be able to work it out. The temptation to pick up a rock and try to crack it open was strong, but his revulsion at such a barbaric act was just as great. He was not an animal. 

 

Raph was still counting. An image of his brother, so cold he’d retreated into his shell, flashed through his mind. Don bit his lip and thought furiously, turning the device over and over. 

 

If it were a monitoring device, it needed some kind of energy source. If he was back on Earth, he’d write off the idea completely, since there weren’t any viable long-lasting batteries that would fit inside the casing. But they weren’t on Earth, the technology here was centuries ahead of mankind. But even if the device was powered, where would the sensors be? There was no discernable ‘up’ face to the device, and no reason that they wouldn’t chuck it face-down in the dirt. Don fought the overpowering desire to hit it with a rock again, or bury the thing. 

 

Assuming he was meant to interact with the small metal object, and not send it a wireless signal...it needed to be activated by himself or the environment.  So, that meant heat, light, wind, sound, touch, or a combination of those options. 

 

Heat (and cold) weren’t readily available conditions in this habitat, so he nixxed that option. With the artificial sun shining brightly on the device, it didn’t respond. He wrapped it tightly in his hands, trying to create a cocoon of darkness, and peeked through a gap in his fingers. Nothing. Ignoring the strange looks he could feel from Raph, he cupped it in his hands and blew gently over the surface of the device. Apart from his growing sense of idiocy, nothing changed. 

 

“Turn on. On. Activate. Light. Start-up,” He tried next, his lips close to the device. He darted a look over at his brother, daring him to laugh. “Wake up. Hello. Hello world...” 

 

Nothing. 

 

That only left touch. His fingers had skimmed over the entire surface while he thought without any effect, which didn’t leave him much hope. Raph’s count was almost up. He was going to fail. 

 

With the pad of his thumb, he traced the inner groove of one of the circular patterns, following it to the outside whorl. The action reminded him of the volume control function on his old iPod. Spin the dial, increase the volume-

 

_ HOT! _

 

Don dropped the device with a yelp. The little metal object glowed almost red with its burning new intensity, triggered by the grooves. He could feel a gentle heat coming off of it in waves, although the grass it lay on didn’t appear to be singed in the slightest. The area closely surrounding the grooves wasn’t an angry red colour, so Don gingerly touched it once again, ‘dialling’ the heat back down. The device returned to its original metal shine immediately, and was surprisingly cool when he picked it up. 

 

“Raph!!” Don exclaimed excitedly, thrusting it towards his brother and then thinking better of it a moment later. “I’ve figured it out! Wait, wait-” He turned it over, noticing how the grooves on the second set of circles were a slightly larger width. He repeated his gesture from earlier, first circling the inner circle, and then, slowly, the outer. The grooves began to glow, light spilling onto his palms in the same intricate patterns. Light and heat, in one neat bundle. No fire for them to hurt themselves with, or divide so they could live independently of each other. A perfect little tool. 

 

He couldn’t stop grinning.

 

\--

 

Raph was watching Don as the seconds began to dwindle. He can appreciate the desire to challenge oneself, and of course he is rooting for his brainy brother to figure the thing out. He likes the sportsmanship of the game, even if he's not very good at the playing pretend part of it, and displays this again as he whoops at the moment of success. “Oh, man! I was sweating for a second… I was down to, like, three!”  

 

He’s startled when Don nearly hands him the thing, convinced he’ll find a way to make it explode. Raph has not grown very tech savvy over the years and would much rather be shown that swirly thing Don did to it… and hopefully a lot slower than he managed it while racing the clock. 

 

Luckily, Donnie wants to play with it some more after all. He watches as another puzzle is quickly solved, and gives an impressed, “Huh!” 

 

Then Raphael beams and holds up his slimy grey cutlet. “Now can you put it back to ‘hot’ and cook me some dinner with that thing?” He snickers as he tacks on, _ “ _ My  _ darling wife?” _

 

\-- 

 

“Wife?” Don asked in mild confusion, not really paying that much attention to Raph as he fiddled with the new toy. “When did I become your- Oh, look! You can set both at the same time! A-ha.”

 

He let the device drop into Raph’s palm -the one not holding onto slimy fish- and smiled. “It’s easy enough. Run your fingers around the middle circle and then the outside, like so.” He took up Raph’s hand in his own, showing him the movement. Raph’s fingers were so much larger and more calloused than his own, which were littered with scars and burn marks.  _ So different,  _ Don mused, curling their hands together unthinkingly. 

 

\--

 

Raph is paying attention to the demonstration, trying to commit the motion to memory even as he grumbles, “What? You don't think I would make an honest woman of ya before aliens force us to make babies? Geez, what sort of loser baby daddy do ya think I am, anyway?” 

 

He repeats the gesture for both of the tool’s functions, just to be sure he's got it, then stubbornly flips it back to heat without the light. “Fine, I'll cook my own damn dinner…” He stabs the end of the alien tool into the probably-fish and quips, mock-wistful, “The magic is gone.”

 

\--

 

Don took his hand away slowly, remaining silent as he watched Raph. He didn’t know where all the sudden baby-talk had come from, but the whole ‘woman’ business made him uncomfortable. He’d always been plugged as the most feminine one out of the brothers, all because of his damn tenor voice and apparently shocking ability to pick up on people’s emotions. Not to mention his purple mask, which  _ hadn’t even been his decision _ , and his duffel bag- which Raph still referred to as his ‘man bag’ on occasion. Maybe it was because he’d also just been declared female by the aliens, but his sex was still too sensitive a topic for Don to appreciate Raph’s banter.

 

\--

 

Raph knows he fucked up right away. Don doesn't have to say it. All the enthusiasm has gone right out of his brother. It’s as obvious as the dousing of a light.

 

Also, what he's doing with the filet isn't working. He’s just seared an ugly black hole in it. The turtle scowls and pulls the two apart, tossing the fish back into the box with more force than necessary. “Too soon? Yeah…” 

 

He holds the tool back out to Don, regretting that there are still burnt bits of fish stuck to it. He adds, vaguely hangdog, “I wasn't saying nothing about you. It's just a weird situation we’re in. I can't really -- wrap my head around any of that.” 

 

\--

 

Don sighed, picking at the tool to avoid looking Raph in the eye. “I know.”

 

He appreciated that Raph was trying to be sensitive about all of this strangeness, and he knew that he was just dealing with it in the small handful of ways that he knew how. He wished he was able to help his brother, but he was almost as lost as Raph. He stood up, and tried to to shove the heat-tool-thing in the duffle bag usually slung over his hips, with the result that it fell back to the ground and made Don’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

 

“I’m going to get a drink, wanna come see the river?” He asked, his voice annoyingly high-pitched again, as he scooped up the little device. “Wouldn’t mind a wash as well.” The feel of the Omatran’s hands on, and  _ in _ his tail hadn’t yet gone away. 

 

\--

 

“Fine by me,” Raph agreed. “But do ya think it's safe to leave our box of weird food behind?” He eyed it for a moment, then cast a wary glance around like zookeepers might be waiting to sweep in and recover the box for analysis the moment they leave it unattended. Granted, he hasn’t found much to appreciate inside the box yet. The truth is, he still hasn’t eaten much at all -- most of what he tried got spit back out quickly in his unrelenting prejudice against all things alien. Raphael knows it’s not a great long-term plan. It would be a real kick in the tail if someone took the box away before he even got a chance to find something edible in there. 

 

But it didn’t matter, in the long run. His need to keep Donatello safe superceded any personal hunger. 

 

“Do you think I should haul the box of food with us…?” Raphael wonders dubiously. It looks awkward to carry, but it's just wood, so he's pretty sure he could manage it.

 

\--

 

“Yeah, let’s take it with us,” Don nodded, once again leaving the manual handling task to Raph, while he walked on ahead. He was feeling overwhelmingly tired again, despite the brief nap he’d had in the metal airlock.  _ Raph must be feeling 10 times worse, _ he chastised himself, determined not to dwell in self-pity. He stumbled down a gravel hill, the sound of the stream growing steadily louder.  _ And there’s nothing stopping me from sleeping again. It’s not like there’s any better way to pass the time in here, now that I’ve figured out the alien torch. Well, besides thinking of a way out of here,  _ He amended, kicking up small clouds of dust with his heavy walk.  _ And making weapons. And having sex, like they want us to… _

 

Don tried to looked over his shoulder at Raph without being obvious about it, turning around again hastily when his brother caught his eye. He wondered if things would ever be truly normal between them once they managed to escape this place. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that they’d had their first  _ and  _ last ‘dosage’, meaning that awkwardness was bound to be a staple of their interactions in the near future. That thought saddened and frightened him more than the small doubt in the back of his head, which whispered that they’d never escape the Zoo. A lifelong prison sentence didn’t seem so bad as long as Raph was there, keeping him together. But a Raph who couldn’t talk to him? Out of fear, embarrassment, or any one of the myriad of emotions that had been plaguing him ever since their arrival here...that was a scarier fate than any of the ones he’d envisioned on the medical table.

 

Don didn’t hesitate when he reached the water’s edge, dropping the torch on the edge and wading in up to his knees, hoping the cold would numb his dread as well as his toes.  _ I wish I could stop thinking for a moment. That would be so nice.  _ He closed his eyes and pressed his palms firmly against his eyelids, listening to Raph setting the box down on the shore.  _ But Raph needs me to think, to give him every possible outcome to any number of scenarios, to make sure he has all the variables so he can make decisions with confidence.  _ Don concentrated on the feel of water swirling around his calves. Guilt gnawed at him for not immediately trying to examine the input and output pump system, look for faults, opportunities. He squashed the feeling and splashed water onto his plastron, cupping his hands together and drinking down the clear liquid. It was almost truly colourless and tasteless, and therefore distinctly unnatural, like the rest of the habitat. He kneeled down into the soft sandy bottom of the river so he could scrub at his tail with some degree of privacy. 

 

“Come on in, the water’s great,” Don mumbled, not bothering to raise his voice as there was nothing to compete with the noise. 

 

\--

 

Raph sets the box down nearby and only wades in a little ways, not relishing the feel of cold water but wanting to comply and stay near as he can to Donatello. He already feels he screwed up, spoiled the brief cheer his brother had managed to regain and made things awkward between them.

 

_ Mikey would know what to say to fix this,  _ he can't help thinking.  _ And Leo wouldn't have said anything so stupid in the first place. _

 

At least the cold water is having a neutralizing effect on what was left of that turtle viagra (or whatever it was) that they had injected him with. His tail had begun to feel thick again, once they were on the move and his blood was pumping.  _ Maybe that will be my plan,  _ Raphael thinks with a sigh.  _ If they try that crap again, I can just make a dash for this stupid fake river.  _

 

Saying _ ‘if’  _ is probably being optimistic though. Raph knows it is more likely to be ‘ _ when’. _

 

He skims the water for other signs of life but finds none. It’s too bad there are no fish in the water. He’d feel better about eating a fish he caught himself. At least then he would know for sure it  _ was  _ a fish. But this water is so sterile, it might as well be a fountain or a swimming pool. Who knows what chemicals are being pumped into it to keep it so clear and pristine? 

 

Even the riverbed doesn't look normal. Once he thinks to use one foot to sweep away some of the sandy layer, too many of the smooth stones underneath look exactly the same. He can even see a pattern to them once he's cleared enough away, and when he nudges at one stone with his stubby big toe Raph finds that all of these stones are firmly affixed to the floor. 

 

_ Well, you knew it was all fake to begin with…  _ Raphael isn't sure why he feels the need to keep proving it to himself. It only serves to further darken his mood. 

 

\--

 

Don watched Raph out of the corner of his eye. If he was honest with himself, he was waiting for some kind of explosion; the level-headedness and logical thinking that his usually high-strung brother had displayed throughout their ordeal was unnerving, and it felt like an outburst was overdue. But maybe this was the sort of situation that Raph was best at dealing with. Don thought of the countless hours Splinter had spent drilling into them -Leo especially- that they all had unique talents that they should be able to recognise in each other and make use of. Raph was rarely ever mentioned in these discussions, and probably not given a lot of credit were it was due. 

 

“I’m tired,” Don admitted aloud to his brother. That had been another important lesson; do not ever endanger your team or put the mission at risk because you didn’t speak up about your own needs, so it could be factored in or dealt with. Don and Mikey had never had as much trouble complying with this as Leo or Raph, who’d rather seriously injure themselves than admit they were feeling under the weather. 

 

The faint tug of the water was soothing, even if the temperature was too cold for his liking. It swirled around his feet, and he stared down at the tessellating patterns in the sand and the reflections, mesmerised. “Raph...” He said again sluggishly when his brother didn’t reply. He didn’t want to sound like a needy child, but felt like he needed permission if he was going to leave the river and go back to their cave to sleep. He’d do anything for a soft mattress and a blanket. The thought of curling up in the dark, on a sharp rocky floor, wasn’t at all appealing, but knew Raph wouldn’t sleep if they were in the open. And he couldn’t bear the thought of Raph forcing himself to stay awake just to watch over him again. 

 

\-- 

 

And this is why Leo has never put Don in charge. He scatters under too much pressure, doesn't stick to his own plans. They were supposed to try the food methodically, to check for toxicity -- that fell apart pretty quick. And they were supposed to check out their entire enclosure -- keeping an eye out for possible escape routes, Raphael had assumed. But then Don had needed a bath, and now he wanted to go back to the cave and sleep! 

 

_ Don has been through a lot,  _ his conscience whispers. _ More’n you have -- so far, anyway. You should give him more credit. _

 

There is nothing Raphael wants to do less than lug this heavy box back to the caves and sit there with only his heavy thoughts for entertainment. Nothing… except risk being parted from Donnie. That is checkmate, for him. 

 

Raph doesn't look thrilled about it, but he swallows whatever protest he had been forming as he looks at Donatello’s weary face. “Yeah, okay.” 

 

Putting on his best alpha leader voice, the turtle in red asserts, “But after yer rested up, we’re givin’ this cage a real good tour. Priority one is looking for a way OUT of this stinking zoo.”

 

\---

 

Medic scowled darkly at the communicator pad. “There, you see?” He gestured emphatically at the security display. “They're already leaving. This would have been a perfect time to administer anti-toxins and healing agents into the water, but you’ve bungled our chance!”

 

“I'm not the one who put these security measures in place.” The Kiralthan on the other end of the line sounded bored with his dilemma. “Anyway, these lifeforms need water to live, don't they? They will return eventually. You can't expect a request to access your home planet’s databank not to undergo  _ some _ scrutiny.”

 

Medic made a noise of mute frustration and slammed one hand down on the surface in front of him.  _ I’m not trying to escape! I never would, not while my Lady is still held captive!  _ But he could not convince the Kiralthan of that. They understood nothing of Omatran honor.

 

“You… are preventing me... from carrying out the will of the Slavelord,” Medic tried again through gritted teeth. Surely that was a threat which the miserable Kiralthan could understand. “The discovery of a new alien lifeform brings great honor, and so my people have catalogued a vast number of them. Far more than what is available in your Archive. I’m sure I could find  _ something  _ about these creatures, something that would…”

 

“Highly unlikely,” the infuriating communication officer interrupted with an indignant sniff. “These creatures are supposed to be quite rare.”

 

Medic knew he had taken the wrong tact. The people of Kiralt were, on the whole, too cowardly to explore vast reaches of uncharted space themselves. They were intellectuals by nature, a race who traded information more frequently than goods and services. They took fierce pride in their precious Archive. Ego was something Medic could understand. 

 

He was made to wait until one of the sniveling Kiralthan could watch over his shoulder. Seething resentment quickly gave way to a patriotic thrill as his search of the databanks quickly produced an exact match. 

_ Too exact, _ he realized a moment later. One of the terrapins in custody had BEEN the discovery. The female…

 

The female…  _ wasn't  _ a female. The Cruax would not be pleased. 

 

But that wasn't the most startling discovery. Medic stared at the display in disbelief.  Credit for the discovery of this particular species had gone to Jhanna of the People.

 

_ Jhanna _ , his queen!


	9. *Not* Leo

Don scratched another long mark onto the cave wall, and sighed. Three marks now. Raph had told him not to do it, because it made their time here seem like a prison sentence, one that might even be over if they waited it out. But they couldn’t afford to think that way, they had to be constantly looking for an escape. Don argued they could still do that  _ and  _ keep track of the days.  

 

As far as he could tell, Raph hadn’t slept much. Every time Don woke up, which was often on the hard, uncomfortable stone floor of their cave, Raph’s gold eyes had blinked at him from close by, highlighted in the dim glow from the alien torch they’d put between them. His brother’s behaviour was comforting, but also worrying; sleep deprivation for his sake was an act of self-sacrifice that Donnie wouldn’t allow for much longer.    

 

The last two days had been spent exploring and mapping their habitat. There was a tree near the cave that made a good lookout post if they climbed to the top, and it had become general practice that one of them sat in this ‘crow’s nest’ if the other went to fetch or make water. There hadn’t been any additional food or supplies left at the airlock; they checked twice a day, and had started to ration the food that Raph had grudgingly deemed ‘edible’. Don had avoided the walls of their slice of the dome, which they now knew for sure that they shared with at least two other species. He knew Raph was keen to make allies or enemies of them, but Don was hesitant to even acknowledge their existence. He knew that he’d inevitably feel sorry for them, and be unable to leave them behind if they found a way to escape, and endanger everyone because of it. Things were much easier in his head if it was just him and Raph, against the world. 

 

“What’s on our agenda today, Fearless?” He asked Raph, parroting the words he’d heard a thousand times addressed to Leo.

 

\--

 

Raph has been quiet and in a sort of daze for the past few minutes. The way he jumps and blinks, and the significant delay before his irritation blossoms, makes it quite a bit more obvious that he’d been all but asleep on his feet -- more accurately,  half asleep on his haunches, crouched near the mouth of the cave. Up until now it had seemed more like silent brooding; maybe it even began that way, but after a while devolved into spacing out, half on his way to dreaming.

 

“I ain't  _ Fearless _ . Don't fucking call me that!” the hothead reacts with more bite than he has any business showing to Don. This is literally his only ally in the whole damn galaxy, maybe a bunch of galaxies. Almost immediately Raphael is grimacing down at his hands, scrambling to cool his temperamental jets and speak more kindly. 

 

“I mean. It's just. There's no  _ replacing _ him, even if he was dead. But he  _ ain't _ dead. He’s just… he’s just so far away that trying to picture how many stars are between us right now makes me start to feel  _ sick _ …”  He winds up rubbing his face, especially his bloodshot eyes, and has to give himself a quick but stern mental lecture about the importance of getting his shit back together pronto. 

 

There is still a wrung out, weary quality to his voice, but at least he sounded calmer, no longer on the brink of unraveling. “Point is, that nickname’s been taken. So, first on the agenda is to  _ think up a better one.”  _ Raphael managed to glance at Don and flashed his broad teeth. It is a valiant effort he makes to smile, even if comes out wan and semi-apologetic. “‘Hey Asshole’, that totally works. You know Mikey woulda already come up with some annoying shit, like ‘Emo McGrumpypants’...”

 

Is it obvious yet that he had just been almost-dreaming of  _ them _ ?

 

“Yanno, I always thought 'Raph’ had a pretty solid ring to it.” A minimal shrug, his impressive shoulders barely twitching, gaze trained ruefully on the ground in front of him. “Ya can't go wrong with the classics.”

 

\--

 

Don isn't used to being on the receiving end of Raph’s temper, and it's a shock to his system. He's usually the one to calm Raph down when someone else sets him off, but with all that anger directed firmly at him, he can't quite find it in himself to reason with his brother. Instead, his own frustration flares up, and he struggles with the desire to walk away so he can find his head again and Raph can sort out his issues on his own. Even Raph's attempt at humour to lighten the moment just irritates Don further. He shoves past Raph and sits in the weak ‘morning’ light just outside the cave, trying to warm up.

 

“Whatever, asshole. You’re not the only one who misses them.” 

 

It would be stupid if Raph thought they could get through this without mentioning their brothers. Leo, especially. Don already missed his leadership terribly. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was also jealous of the innate bond that Raph shared with their eldest brother. They fought constantly, but there was no one either of them respected more. He doubted Raph would ever get so upset about  _ him _ if Leo was here in Don’s stead. Raph was the one who had coined the name ‘fearless’ in the first place! Donatello didn't have a nickname. Or Mikey, unless you counted every variation of his full name, and all the synonyms of ‘idiot’. Don thought bitterly for a moment about how much Raph would beat him up if he started calling him ‘killer’ like the aliens did. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Raph probably just needed some sleep.  _...Why doesn’t he? Doesn’t he trust me to watch his back?   _

 

_ \-- _

 

Raphael  _ does  _ have nicknames for Donnie --  _ genius  _ or  _ brainiac  _ being the most common, both more complementary than insulting. He would never think to call this particular brother  _ shell-for-brains. _

 

But he can't hear the turmoil in Donatello’s mind, can only guess at what must be going on behind those shuttered eyes. He winds up scowling at the ground in his dismay. This is what comes of showing weakness. He will have to do better… but how?

 

“I don't got much on the agenda for  _ me _ ,” he admits, trailing after Don and squinting into the weak sunlight.  _ Ugh. Was the fake sun always this annoying to look at in the morning?  _ Just the fact that he CAN look into it continuously without discomfort for several hours before dusk and after dawn is what first clued him in to how fake it was. But that ought to mean he can safely look at it now. At this particular moment it seems like doing so might actually give him a serious migraine if he keeps it up. 

 

The turtle sighs and retreats a step backwards, returning to the shade that is still being cast by the overhanging upper lip of their cave. “Because if you haven't noticed, I am quickly becoming worthless to you. I don’t actually know how much longer I can... keep this up.” He makes an angry gesture, slashing the stale air with a futile burst of long-bottled violence. “Fucking… wandering around day after day, seeing no exits. We're still drawing maps, even though I had the whole thing memorized yesterday. Hating the food, hating the hard cold cave, but hating everything _outside_ even more. Because it's all so _god-damned_ _fake_. It's making me feel _crazy_ , Donnie… but I don't know what else I can do. And my brain, my stupid brain will not shut off -- will not shut up -- about _any of it._ ”

 

Raph’s face contorts and he draws a sharp breath. This is cause for immediate panic. He presses the pads of his fingers into his eyes and upbraids himself fiercely.  _ Oh my God. Do not, DO NOT fucking break down and cry on top of everything else! What the hell kind of weak ass leader are you?!  _ Leonardo, he knows, would not be impressed with the swell job he has done so far.

 

“Can you… can you figure out…” His voice is a terrible croak, and Raphael feels compelled to clear his throat roughly before he can continue. “Make me a noisemaker. Something… loud. Portable. Wearable, maybe. So we can let each other know if something's wrong. I can't shake this feeling, like if I turn my back for one second they’re gonna snatch you away from me...” 

 

_ Nope. Don't go there. _ Raphael takes a steadying breath. “Then… I need you to bring me some of those  _ leaves _ , the creepy ones that pull off the tree easy enough but won't tear by hand. Or some fake weeds, maybe? I dunno. Long and skinny as you can find. Maybe the trunks of some saplings. They're real strong, even if they're hollow inside...” 

 

Their every attempt to make a fire had failed miserably. In spite of abundant materials outside that looked like they SHOULD have been perfectly flammable, every single thing they’ve tried to ignite so far -- the twigs, the sticks, the bark of trees -- refused to kindle, even under the heat gun’s highest setting. Ever since they were forced to admit defeat, Raph has been adamantly opposed to any further efforts they might make to 'get cozy’. He’s loudly insisted several times that from now on their focus should only be on  _ escaping _ . Making their cave more comfortable was backwards thinking, he had ranted. It didn’t  _ have _ to be comfortable, because they weren’t sticking around! End of story. He would not be moved on this. 

 

It's very hard for him to retract this bitter stance. Actual pain lances his voice as he quietly asks, “Just… can ya bring a whole bunch of different shit back here, and... for God's sake. Help me figure out how Master Splinter made that hammock...”

 

\--

 

Don listened to Raph warily, unsure what to make of his change in heart. But it was always good to have something to do, and if he finally had permission to make some kind of mattress instead of trying to sleep on cold hard rock, then he wouldn't complain.    
  
“The comfort in a hammock is from its ability to stretch around you, so I'm not sure about the saplings, they might be too rigid, and there isn't much in here to anchor a hammock to…” He caught Raph's stricken look and cringed. “But, uh, I'll see what I can do.”   
  
Don stood up and dusted himself off, interpreting the crack in his brother's voice as a signal to leave him the hell alone for a moment while he regained his composure. “And I'm not some damsel in distress that can just be carried off, you know,” He told Raph, still feeling bitter. “I was trained by Master Splinter, and I will kick your sorry ass if that’s keeping you up at night.” He clomped off towards the tall reeds near the river. “Oh, and, the ‘loud, portable noisemaker’ you’re thinking of?” Don called over his shoulder, raising his voice to a yell and pointing at his throat. “We already have them!”

 

\--

 

As Donatello is threatening to kick his ass, Raphael looks him in the eyes with frozen, naked shock. He had spent several pre-dawn hours earlier failing to work up the courage to just talk to Don about the fact that he was wrong, that he was scared, or that he missed their old life like a constant, aching wound. The insomnia was a serious problem, maybe a bigger problem than Raph knew how to deal with. He was too freaked out and homesick to sleep.

 

It all went so poorly, way worse than he had expected. But at the same time, the sinking sensation that follows is nothing new. Whenever Raphael winds up at odds with any member of his family, without fail he finds a way to make it worse. It doesn't matter how badly he may want to make everything better deep down. It always gets worse before it can get better.

 

His eyes narrow and become hot with many protests as the other turtle storms off, once again blatantly disobeying his primary request -- that they stick together no matter what. Many smaller protests rise up and vie for individual attention -- that lazy solution to his request for a noisemaker, for example.  _ It's not good enough! _ How’s he supposed to know for sure if Don is calling his name to show him the latest mildly-interesting-but-not-directly-helpful discovery or because his life's in actual danger? It will mostly be for unexciting reasons, but every time his heart will leap painfully into his chest at the potential for disaster.

 

And also, Don is way off base with his reasoning for why hammocks are comfortable. Hammocks feel like  _ home _ . The stone floor is so different from what he normally sleeps on. 

 

Plus... there is a secret and ancient trick that Master Splinter taught him when he was six, after a particularly scary water beetle with what seemed like giant pincher mandibles dared to crawl on him and he awoke in clawing terror. He began to imagine he could feel bugs crawling on himself after that, and would work himself into terrible distress until Master Splinter taught him this secret: you put a little bit of your pee on each end of the hammock rope, dribble it in a careful circle on all sides, and the bugs will scent a more powerful creature and won't venture across it. Master Splinter had solemnly given him an empty medicine bottle which had once contained human ear drops, with the dropper built into the lid. He was made to promise not to tell his brothers, who would not understand or approve. Or in Mikey’s case, he might feel encouraged to start calling himself the Exterminator and randomly peeing on people's things without permission. It had been sage and effective advice.

 

In his most logical moments, Raphael understands that Splinter didn't want him to tell  _ Don _ the trick because he would have to “check”, which usually means he is compelled to look up whatever you just said on the internet and then explain exactly how wrong you are. He will produce facts and evidence, line them up plain as day, not even in a gloating way but just having such a low tolerance for the spreading of bad information. In mere moments Don could have destroyed this superstitious secret ritual or placebo effect or whatever it is which successfully kept both real and imaginary bugs from crawling on Raph as he falls asleep for the latter half of his life.

 

It's just easier to say nothing. He lets Don mouth off, lets him storm off, and doesn't lift a finger to stop him. He doesn't speak, and squelches a childish but typical desire to get in the final word.  Raphael  _ understands _ that he has been smothering and overbearing. He is able to recall how much he personally hates it whenever he feels smothered, under-valued, or even slightly over-managed by Leonardo. Besides, Don has always been one who retreats into solitude from time to time to be alone with his thoughts. It seems to be a trait he and this brother have always had in common.

 

_ But to actually back off… to not BE THERE when some crazy new shit goes down…  _ Raph winds up shuddering at that thought and touching his face with one hand.  _ He’s just lashing out, telling you to back it off a bit. Yer  _ _ insulting _ _ him with all this worrying! _

 

And so that's what Raphael vows to do. He backs off, even though a part of him still cries out to ascend the crow's nest and maintain a comforting line of sight on his brother. Raph slinks back into the cave and settles onto his plastron with his arms folded under his chin. He stares at the stone floor like he is trying to scowl himself to sleep.

 

_You're obsessed with him. Admit it_ , some cruel inner voice taunts. _You can't stand to have anything else taken away. But_ _you’ll drive him away all by yourself_ _before that ever happens_ _if you keep this up!_

 

_ \-- _

 

“He thinks  _ he’s _ worthless,” Don muttered angrily, knee-deep in the reeds at the water’s edge. He yanked another handful of long grass out of the water and scowled at his muddied reflection. His face looked so strange without his mask. If he wasn’t constantly speaking he could believe he was just an animal. “He’s not the one who has to figure out how to get off a fucking  _ prison planet  _ with nothing but a bunch of rocks and a torch. Worthless, I’ll give you worthless...”

 

He waded further into the river, welcoming the numbing cold around his legs. Donatello wasn’t sure if he was angry at Raph or himself, or if it made much of a difference. He yanked out the reeds with greater force. “What responsibility does he have,  _ really _ ? To make sure I don’t die while I save our asses. That’s great, I really appreciate it buddy, you tell me to eat my greens and take a nap and in return I’ll somehow- somehow get us out of this sealed room-” He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “-And past the security, and...and through the maze, and...and out of the desert, and...steal a ship, and...operate it, and..find out how to get home...and bring everyone else with us of course, because that’s what we  _ do _ , and no one is allowed to get hurt. Is that all, Raph? Is that all? Oh right, I’ll make you a fucking hammock first. And a rape whistle. So you can rest easy at night, while carrying the burden of your responsibilities.” 

 

It was all too much. The anger left as quickly as it came, replaced by a hollow feeling that gnawed at his stomach. Don sat down on the water’s edge with his pile of reeds for his brother’s bed, and wrapped his arms around himself. Voicing the impossible tasks he had yet to do, without the guidance of his leader, the support of his youngest brother, and the wisdom of his father, made his heart sink with despair. He struggled to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, and he sat gasping for a few minutes, blinking rapidly at the opaque wall of the dome across the river, slowly rocking himself into the mud of the riverbank. He wanted to sleep again. As long as he was unconscious, he wasn’t living a nightmare.

 

Eventually his breathing evened out, and the overwhelming feeling of panic receded to a manageable level. “I have Raph,” He said firmly, wiping at his face, which only served to cover it in more muck. “I have Raph.” Donatello would not wallow in self-pity, and he wouldn’t allow Raphael to do that either. His brother was  _ all  _ he had. They had to take care of each other, first and foremost.

 

He slowly got to his feet, and started pulling again at the grass stems.

 

-

  
  


_ “Warning. Warning.”  _ __   
__   
Don poked his head up from the reeds at the clear and commanding voice ringing in his ears.    
  
“Uh, Raph? Was that you?”   
  
_ “Warning. Warning. Exhibit upgrade commencing shortly. Please return to your sleeping habitat. Warning. Warning.” _   
  
Don dropped the pile of reeds. “Raph!” He yelled, squinting up towards the crow's nest where he expected to see his brother perched, watching him. “Raph, what do we do?”   
  
_ “Warning. Warning. Exhibit upgrade…” _   
  
_ Upgrade? What does that even mean? Is it not like a regular clean of the cage?  _ The disembodied, genderless voice continued to repeat its message in perfect English.  _ They sure learn from us fast. _   
  
The habitat started to hum and crackle with energy. Don swallowed nervously.   
  
_ “Warning. Please return to your sleeping habitat. Failure to comply may result in irreparable injury.” _ __   
  
_ They're watching me, _ Don thought, spinning in a circle but otherwise refusing to move from his spot.  __ They know I’m not moving. They’ll have to make a decision, whether or not to continue with the ‘upgrade’, which might put me in harms way. Maybe they have an override in case of emergencies, some kind of shutdown that could expose gaps in the enclosure that we could use to escape. I need to know.   
  
“Raph, I don't know if you can hear me but- I'm gonna call their bluff!” Don screamed as the noise of generators under their feet rose to a crescendo, his heartbeat erratic now as every instinct in his body told him to run. “They won't hurt us! They're gonna have to come in and physically move me if they want-”   
  
And then the ground disappeared under his feet, and he was swallowed up by a storm.    
  
\--

 

Raphael  _ doesn't  _ hear. He had not managed to sleep at all, and it was basically impossible once that creepy overhead announcement started blaring. He gets to his feet in a flash and scans the interior of the cave hopefully, straining to pick out his brother's familiar shape somewhere beyond the dim light. No such luck.

 

“Irreparable harm! Geezus, Donnie... You  _ better _ already be hauling ass back here. If you're out there riskin’ everything just ‘cause it ain't comfortable to hang around me after we almost had a fight, I'm gonna wring your flipping neck, I swear to...” All of this is muttered hotly under his breath as he stalks out of the cave. 

 

As the light hits his face, Raph clenches both fists at his sides and squeezes his eyes shut to properly boom at top volume, “DONNIE! GET YER ASS BACK HERE! I AIN'T PLAYIN’ ARO-”

 

The rest dies in his throat, cut short with a gasp as Raphael opens his eyes. _The ground is_ _wrong._

 

Fear grips his stomach fiercely and begins to squeeze. Everything beyond the stone mouth of the cave he is currently standing in has turned into living static. It's all mostly colored the way that it should be, but it had shattered into near-microscopic pieces that were flying in constant motion. It hurt Raphael’s brain to look at so much chaos.

 

_ It's gotta be a dream. Or maybe the sleep deprivation is makin’ me hallucinate… _

 

But as the seconds tick by, Raphael can't force himself to believe it.  _ Donnie… didn't make it back! _

 

The turtle stared at the static before him, realizing what he must do. He wasn't sure if this was a rescue attempt or an act of suicide. Either way, the action required of him was the same.

 

“Forgive me, sensei,” Raph whispered, just in case, before he leapt into the chaos. 


End file.
